The Wrath of Tarren Mill
by Knightfall1138
Summary: A cold-blooded murder sends the denizens of the Hillsbrad Foothills down the path to an unavoidable war.
1. Prelude: Flames of the Lost

_"If there is one great truth about Hillsbrad, it's that this region is destined to live under the shadow of war."_

_-Huraan of Southshore_

* * *

"World of Warcraft: The Wrath of Tarren Mill"

Prelude - Flames of the Lost

* * *

A chilled wind moved through the streets of Southshore; scaring away the gulls and running most of the town's inhabitants indoors. It was perhaps the only warning the citizens had of what was to come.

Melvin Proctor, a short and awkward man, stumbled out of his small dwelling with his torch. Every night, for as long as he could remember, he walked the streets in the exact same manner. Arm elevated, he touched the torch to the street lamps; which flared up brightly before easing back to a steady burn that would last the night.

It was a simple job, but the only one he could afford to do. Not much came easy to Melvin's mind easily anymore. An unwanted gift from the injury he sustained from the last great skirmish with Horde forces many years ago. He had been a soldier—an iron-clad, sword-wielding fist of the Alliance. Not that he could remember this time, sadly. An orc mace to his head made sure of this.

Simple was all that he could do now.

At the northern head of the main street through town—near the edge of the forest—he lit the flame of the last lamp. A gentle nod to himself gave him the gratification he needed and turned back to make his way home. It was here that he could marvel at his work. A fiery path cut its way through the houses and down towards the docks like a crimson serpent from the Burning Steppes. It was a battle between the light and dark that he had created, and for a brief moment he simply stood in awe.

A smile crept up his face; working muscles that hadn't been used in years. For once, since the age of his prime, he felt happy.

Melvin was nearly at the first house when he heard a harsh wind sprout up behind him. He whirled around quickly to find one of the lamps had gone out, leaving a patch of night on the road.

"St—Strange," he stuttered, moving in closer to inspect the lamp. The wind was still blowing, but the glass shutters around the flames typically kept them burning through even a harsh thunderstorm.

"Is anyone around?" Melvin called out. He thought that the children might be playing a prank on him, which wasn't out of the ordinary. "Keeping these lit is for your own g—good!"

He took his first steps to relight the lamp. His hand quivered slightly at the unknown. He didn't like to be surprised.

The torch touched the lamp, and the fire burned once again.

Melvin took a deep breath.

"It's for your own good!" he repeated, and turned back to town.

He nearly dropped his torch. Yet another lamp had burned out, creating a barrier of darkness between him and the border of Southshore.

"This isn't funny!" he shouted loudly. "Please! This is for your own—"

The lamps behind him began to fizzle out, one after another. Each one doused brought the night closer to where he stood.

He couldn't move. His mind was a whirlwind of confusion. Should he run? Fight? Call for help? Melvin's mind was far too damaged to focus in on any one thing. So he stood, until he was all alone—under a moonlit night with nothing but his torch to keep him company.

There was a dead silence that crept around him. No crickets. No birds. No wind. Not even his torch seemed grant him the sanity of sound.

Then he felt it. The blade. It slipped into his side and did its work.

Melvin flipped his torch around on impulse and caught a brief glimpse of his attacker: a rotting corpse of a man that had once been. A warrior of the undead. A Forsaken.

The creature's one intact cheek moved slowly up into a grin and the dagger was pulled from Melvin's side less-than-gently.

With its job done, the Forsaken assassin moved back into the shadows. From its throat, a guttural utterance of the phrase that Melvin had heard so many times during his last great conflict.

_"Lok tagu Nogah…"_ it said.

In his fading moment, the dying man was granted a glimpse of his glory days. When he was a champion, not a torch-handler. And he recalled the translation of the phrase he had heard so many times on the field of battle, and it filled him with fear before he passed.

_"For the Horde…"_


	2. Echoes

* * *

"World of Warcraft: The Wrath of Tarren Mill"

Chapter One - Echoes

* * *

The town guards kept the growing crowd at bay while the doctor tended to the corpse. Everyone knew that Melvin Proctor was dead, but only the authorities knew the means.

"A puncture wound on his side was the cause," the doctor whispered to the mayor. "Up through his rib cage and into an artery." He let out a long sigh. "It wasn't quick."

"Who could do this?" the mayor asked, shaking his head. "He was harmless. A harmless old man."

"Perhaps someone didn't think so," mused the doctor. "In any case, we have a murderer on the loose in town."

"Maybe not," a voice appeared.

The mayor and doctor looked up to find Davion Nalick. They weren't at all surprised that the man made it past the guards. Nalick was a ranger who had lived in the wild of the Hillsbrad Foothills nearly all his life. He knew every ditch, every tree, and every stream in the land. Irregular commotion in town was bound to draw him out, and indeed it did.

"You would know, Nalick," the mayor said to the rugged man, very sarcastically. "What do I have to keep telling you? You don't have to police the forest for us. You've made your home in the hills, so…go see to them!"

The ranger shrugged and dropped his bags to the ground.

"This concerns me," he said as he approached the body. "This concerns everyone this side of the Meridian Line."

The doctor and mayor went wide-eyed at the same time.

"No," said the doctor frantically. "No, there's no evidence to support that yet."  
"None at all," the mayor confirmed. "For all we know, this could have been just a careless—"

"Accident?" Davion laughed. "Look at the wound!" He pointed to the small gash on the corpse of Melvin Proctor. "One thrust through the chest did the old man in. The blade didn't even touch a rib! Now who, I ask you, can employ someone with this kind of precision in the middle of the Foothills?"

The doctor pushed his spectacles back up onto his nose.

"I still see no evidence that this was an assassination," he said. "It should have been just another highwayman who got lucky."

The ranger looked back to the wound. "No one is this lucky," he muttered. "No one on this side of the Line."

"Bah!" The mayor stood up quickly to yell at the guards. "Get everyone back behind the borders!" He needed to rant, but certainly didn't want to do so in front of his fellow denizens.

"So," he continued when the crowd was further down the road, "you think those monsters at Tarren Mill had something to do with this, eh? Well, I suppose it goes without saying that they're not the biggest supporters of the Alliance, but we haven't had to deal with them in decades!"

"There was never any sort of truce," Davion corrected. "Battles are still being fought all over the Eastern Kingdoms. If they wanted to attack us, they wouldn't even have to sound the drums of war. They could walk right over Southshore and it would be completely justified!"

The mayor began to turn red. A combination of uncertainty and anger fueling the change.

"They wouldn't dare," he grumbled. "They have no cause!"

"Must I remind you of the war, sir?" the ranger shot back.

"I know of the war!" the mayor roared, pointing to a faded scar across his face. "But you!" His finger flew in Davion's direction. "I question whether or not you were even alive when the Horde marched upon us at the Meridian Line. Oh, yes, you know the land. So you must know how devastating their attack was to the forces in the area. We were completely cut off. Our contingent was overrun at the Arathi Basin. Command was nearly wiped out by an avalanche in the Alterac Mountains. It was us and them! It wasn't until there was only one squad left on either side did a truce come into play—when I walked over the mauled bodies of my fellow soldiers to shake hands with the Orc captain."

Davion stood quietly, but listened intensely. He had no wish to press upon emotions any further.

The mayor calmed slightly, although the anger was still clearly present in his gaze.

"Now you wish to tell me that the Horde wishes to bring war upon us again," he said. "Can you not see how much I would like to doubt such a thing happening? With Lordaeron no more than a three days march away? Our only hope would be the dwarves on the other side of the continental divide!"

The ranger returned his sight to the body. He had been sure that this was the work of a Horde rogue. Completely sure. But the fire in the mayor's eyes told a different story. Perhaps some other force was at work here, as Davion could only guess from the mayor's story that the creatures on the other side of the Meridian Line were as much against starting another conflict as the people of Southshore were.

"I suppose," Davion began. "I suppose I can't know what happened here. I must admit I was only a child when the fires of war split Hillsbrad in two." His arm dropped to his side, tapping against the hilt of a broadsword sheathed at his belt. "But I do know that someone wishes bloodshed. So, there is only one place I can go to ease my conscience."

The mayor turned away without another word.

--

"Everything must die. It is the way of all other things."

"All other things?" Kimuriel Kyladar snorted. "Must you be this way?"

"If irony permits."

The tauren sighed at the undead being and continued to look over the windmill. Every few seconds a drop of water would drip out into the bucket. Today had brought the wind they needed to restore Tarren Mill's water ration for the remainder of the week. But now, something had jammed one of the gears, leaving the pair with a bleak outlook on the day.

"We'll have to go back to town and fetch Randall," said Kimuriel, his hoof stamping the ground in annoyance.

"No," Rasmon Gesth replied. "We don't have the time to make a big deal out of this. The damned contraption is older than the town itself. If we can't fix a simple thing as this, then we deserve to go without water."

"Why do you even care? You have no need for water."

"It's still something that is being taken away from me. You should know my loss, and know that I do not wish to add water to that dreadfully long list."

Kimuriel felt the wind brush against his mane; a reminder that they were running out of time. Despite the Forsaken's motives, Rasmon was very much correct about their window of opportunity growing smaller.

"Very well," the tauren submitted. "Then you'll have to see if the problem is the gears at the top."

Rasmon's decaying face miraculously formed a look of bewilderment. His blued eyes rolled up into the air and focused in on the peak of the windmill.

"Up there?" he asked.

"Yes, up there!" the tauren bellowed. "I'm certainly not able to climb."

"I've seen you climb!"

"Not on the mill."

"Well…you know what they say about new experiences—"

"Climb!" Kimuriel roared. "Or I will toss you up there a piece at a time!"

"Humph," the Forsaken shrugged. "No need for threats. I was going to go anyways."

A look of impatience and a sudden snort from the towering tauren persuaded Rasmon to begin the climb.

Each board creaked, shifted and threatened to snap in half at any time. The Forsaken knew nothing bad could come of falling, but faint memories of his past life were always whispering; telling him that it could be the end if he slipped. Every time he felt the sensation of fear, he cursed aloud. It was an annoyance to feel these things—now, of all times.

"I expect you to be looking for the problem down there, tauren!" he called down to the ground in his raspy voice. "I'll not have you slacking!" He knew Kimuriel had heard him, but there was no reply.

It was then that he heard it. The grinding of jammed gears; screeching their rustic song into the sky. Rasmon continued climbing, even though he had no idea how to fix the thing. He hoped that whatever was causing the problem could be easily solved.

Then came a crunch, and the wheel spun slightly. His sense of fear spun up yet again, but this time he didn't cast it aside, he embraced it. If there was something in this world his emotions were still good for, it was intuition. Danger was close, but in what form, he didn't know.

He neared the top—with the crunching noise very loud now. The wooden panel that blocked the gears from the weather was ajar and bouncing back and forth on its hinges. After gathering the nerve, he opened the panel and stared into the darkness of the housing.

"Kimuriel!" a voice called from the orchard near the mill. "Kimuriel!" It was another Forsaken, Barnaby Jones; a farmer of Tarren Mill. He hobbled quickly to the tauren's side and spoke quickly as there was no need to catch his breath.

"On our borders!" he very nearly shouted. "A human carrying a white flag!"

Mind and heart: that is what, if nothing else, the Forsaken were taught to protect. Mind and heart. If either is destroyed, the rest will fall. This lesson echoed through Rasmon's mind as his stare remained locked on the sight in the mill housing.

There was no anger; only a happy promise of revenge that came with the mention of an approaching human.

"Mind and heart," he said aloud as he watched the windmill gears begin to turn and slowly grind away what remained of the corpse of a Forsaken brethren.


	3. Assurances

* * *

"World of Warcraft: The Wrath of Tarren Mill"

Chapter Two – Assurances

* * *

The white flag held above Davion Nalick's head did nothing to calm his nerves. As he stood at the town's borders, he began to see activity growing more and more frantic. Before long, there was a small crowd of onlookers standing at the closest house to the ranger. Close enough for a marksman to get a clean shot, if they so wished.

The first to emerge from the crowd was a troll. He pushed through the crowd and shouted something into the crowd: _"Nil yentali! Endas!"_ During the creature's entire trek down the road, it kept its eyes locked on the ranger. Never breaking contact even once. As it reached arm's length, its normally hunched body stretched completely erect.

A challenge, Davion presumed.

_"Vel'bol la kuzan dei terralk,"_ the troll hissed, and tapped its arm on a sheathed dagger at its belt. _"Ur rivvil maglust tul lle'warrin. Ragness ur lle'warrin la trestarilk!"_

The troll drew its dagger on Davion's throat in a lightning-fast motion. Although Davion had made up his mind to not draw on any of the creatures, he couldn't imagine matching the troll's speed.

_"Muu'peh!"_ a voice boomed from the fields to the south.

The ranger found the origin of the shouting to be that of a tauren. It approached Davion with relative calmness; its massive form towering over the ranger.

_"Alu al rath,"_ said the tauren, its gaze shifting to the troll.

The troll put away the dagger just as quickly as it had unsheathed it, but refused to walk away.

_"Dos hassil lle'warrin senah?"_ it scoffed.

The tauren turned back to Davion; its eyes moved up and down in contemplation.

_"Whol nin, nex,"_ the tauren replied.

With a snort, the troll turned away to head back to town, but not before spitting on the ground.

Davion took the ordeal as a power play, although he was none to glad to be face to face with a tauren. He had heard far too many tales of entire groups of men impaled by the creatures' sharpened horns. Such a fate was not out of the question for himself, he imagined.

"I only wish to speak on friendly terms," Davion said, firmly. "If I am not welcome, then I shall leave this instant."

Before the ranger could fully contemplate whether or not the beast even spoke common, the tauren's maw formed a subtle grin.

_"Then speak,"_ it replied.

--

Kimuriel could hear Muu'peh's shrill voice all the way out in the fields. If there was indeed a human at the border, then the troll would be the first to make first contact—verbally and otherwise.

"Cowards! All of ya!" Muu'peh shouted at the crowd of onlookers.

The tauren quickened his pace. The visitor would be long dead if no one stepped in; and he was very sure no one would.

"De spine you must have to come to dis land," the troll said as he approached the human. "No one will miss a single hu'man. 'Specially one wit a deathwish!"

This was it, Kimuriel thought. The killing blow.

"Muu'peh!" he shouted as loudly as he could into the air. The crowd at the edge of town shuttered in surprise, and the troll's sights moved away from the human's throat.

Kimuriel walked straight up to the human and looked it over. The movements of its eyes and the twitches of its hands told him that this one was a skilled hunter. He wondered if Muu'peh had had the upper hand at all during the confrontation.

"Go back to town," said Kimuriel, quite sternly.

The troll quickly put away his dagger. Although he wasn't one for manners, he did have much respect for his fellow denizens of Tarren Mill.

"You wish to keep dis hu'man alive then?" asked Muu'peh.

Kimuriel looked back to the human. "For now, yes."

The troll spat on the ground next to the human before turning back to town obediently. After he was gone, the human suddenly began speaking, throwing the tauren off-guard. It had been some time since he had heard common being spoken.

_"I only wish to speak on friendly terms,"_ it said. _"If I am not welcome, then I shall leave this instant."_

At least this creature knew proper etiquette. Kimuriel smiled at this, and spoke as non-threatening as he could.

"Then speak."

--

"Am I going to be heard out?" asked Davion. "I don't wish to be ignored, as this concerns both of us."

_"The only concern you should have is bringing insult to the Horde with your speak,"_ the tauren replied. _"Be thankful that my thirst for Alliance blood has dwindled much over the years…but…" it turned back to the crowd down the road. "…most of them cannot say the same."_

The ranger nodded. "Very well, I shall be quick about it then," he said. "My name is Davion Nalick. I am a ranger of the lands—south of the Meridian Line, of course."

He was stopped from going any further as the tauren spoke.

_"My name is Kimuriel Kyladar,"_ it said, _"and I have no wish to hear half-truths if we are to speak. It's my experience that rangers don't travel within established borders, and I have no reason to believe that you do as well."_

There was no point in lying anymore. Davion had indeed crossed the border many times before. The thought that he was dealing with irrational monsters would have to stop.

"My apologies," the ranger nodded, "it won't happen again. But as for the matter which brings me here, it seems that one of the citizens of Southshore was cut down last night. An assassin's deed, by the looks of it."

He waited for a reaction. If this tauren was the intelligent being he now considered it to be, it would already know what he was insinuating.

_"You think this was our doing?"_ Kimuriel asked, its gaze growing narrower.

Davion sighed. "You must understand, an event such at this could bring the terror of war back to these lands. I would never wish such a frightful thing on anything living in Hillsbrad…Alliance or Horde. So I wanted to get assurances that the peace we have between us isn't being threatened by your will."

The tauren was considerably calmer. He looked around at the surrounding wilderness. His eyes traced the forest's edge around to the sparkling pond in the distance. Then, after a moment of consideration, he spoke.

_"Such a terror, I would never love to see again," _said Kimuriel. _"If it's an assurance that you need, then I give you my word that no such murder was done by a citizen of Tarren Mill…Although…"_ It leaned in closer. _"This town also entertains travelers that would love nothing less than the swift death of the Alliance. So, I cannot speak for them."_

"I understand," Davion replied. "Then I must hurry back to Southshore and inform them of what you have said." He was about to turn away, but decided he'd better push his luck to ensure the tarren was telling the truth. "I have to know I can hold you to your word."

Kimuriel didn't speak. It closed its eyes and stretched its arms into the air. From the tips of his paws, green light sprouted forth. The light followed with the current of the wind into the distance, and disappeared into the trees.

"A druid…" Davion murmured.

_"Only after the battle ended,"_ the tauren replied. _"We both suffered many losses, but this land suffered a near-fatal blow. I've spent these long years becoming one with the natural order in this place, so that I might undo what I caused in our conflict. I fear that another war will destroy that order for good—and that is something that I cannot allow."_

Davion nodded in full belief; and turned back to the forest trails that would lead him home.

--

When Kimuriel returned to town, he was met with a barrage of questions. A small group of orcs were already sharpening battleaxes and pulling old suits of armor from their homes.

"Enough!" he cried. "There will be no march. There will be no war!" He said with special emphasis at the orcs. "It was a diplomatic concern, and it is over and done with. Go back to your homes. Return to your lives, for they will not be threatened."

Slowly, the crowd dispersed in a cloud of relief and disappointment; and the town returned to its active state of being.

"Muu'peh," Kimuriel called to the troll. "I need to speak with you."

"If you are to pewnish me for drawing my blade, den you can just shove it up yar—"

"Quiet," the tauren snapped. "I'm not going to punish you. I found your act quite admirable."

The troll suddenly made a smile that stretched from tusk to tusk.

"Den you are quite welcome," he said.

"What I'm about to say stays between the two of us," Kimuriel whispered. He knew Muu'peh was more than trustworthy.

"I swear by mine life," he replied, holding a hand to his heart.

"A human was killed at Southshore. An assassination, it seems." Kimuriel checked around one more time to see if anyone was listening. "I need to know if Trezner is back in town."

Muu'peh cackled loudly. No one seemed to notice.

"Do ya know what dis means, Kimuriel?" Muu'peh began, still smiling. "Dat elf might have just bought us a war!"

"Quiet!" the tauren scolded him again. "So he is back in town?"

"Ah, yes," the troll replied, rubbing his hands together in a devious manner. "Has been for some time…very thankful to say." He laughed again. "What a nasty rogue he's been."

--

Davion was nearly at the Meridian Line when he caught scent of a foul presence in the air.

Rotting flesh. And it was drawing near.


	4. A Killing Grace

* * *

"World of Warcraft: The Wrath of Tarren Mill"

Chapter Three – A Killing Grace

* * *

Davion heard the sharp crack and dove away. Behind him, a large tree of the forest came crashing down; its limbs striking the ground in a wave that very nearly overtook the ranger. As he came to rest, the last branch whipped into the earth no more than a foot away. Dust enveloped the air, and leaves still fell from the spot in the sky where the tree had once stood.

He quickly stood and gained his balance. Another moment brought an arrow into his taut bow. The ranger's eyes scanned the surrounding trees, but his senses were thrown off by the commotion still surrounding the fallen timber.

Then the whispers filled his ears. They sprouted out from all directions and seemed to echo in his very thoughts.

_"Shaa'seraa."_

He fought his wanting to follow the source of the voice, knowing it was a trick to keep him distracted. Far too many soldiers perished to the deathcall during the war. Far too many for the warriors of the next generation, like Davion Nalick, to not learn from.

_"NAK TU WARRINET VAHK TAH!"_

It was right in his ear. As if the cursed being was right there beside him. He could even feel the chilled breath against his neck. Still, he did not budge. Davion trusted what his surroundings told him—nothing is here…as of yet. A gaze in the wrong direction could be a death sentence if it gave this creature the proper distraction.

"Show yourself," Davion whispered down the length of the arrow. "I am not afraid."

The scent of ashes suddenly became prevalent in the air. He redirected his bow and found the burning land as it spread slowly towards him. Blades of grass would turn black and fade away. The surrounding trees crackled and spurted flames from its trunk as its leaves fell to dust.

In the wake of this, a rotting corpse of a man moved casually along.

_"You are not afraid?"_ the Forsaken groaned. _"You will be…Alliance scum!"_

The undead being whipped its arm out towards the ranger.

The bow and arrow fell to the ground. Purple flames enveloped Davion's thoughts and showed him the fears of his life. Every scare, every spook, every shock, fright, panic, and worry were dragged from the man's subconscious and forced upon his senses in vivid detail—all at once.

Davion fell to his knees, closed his eyes, and pressed his hands against his ears as hard as he could. Nothing could shut out the terror. As much as he resisted, nothing helped make it any less real to him. A cold sweat formed across his face, and his form quivered violently as he screamed loudly into the sky.

_"Much fear in you, I think,"_ said the corpse as it moved closer. _"Much fear for one so brief in life…How can you even manage to move through life with such a burden? Such selfishness. Such ungratefulness. But oh, how typical of a human to treat life as a burden…pain."_

The undead man was close now. Close enough that the grass beneath Davion's legs were beginning to die away into ash.

With arms still aimed at the ranger, the Forsaken cried out into the air, _"You know nothing of pain!"_

A green aura surrounded Davion. As the light grew in intensity, he could feel his energy leaving him. Every second that passed felt like years had been stolen away. His memories began to dissolve and move backwards through time as his very life was drained from him.

_"There, there," _the Forsaken said in a consoling tone of voice. _"Submit to it. Give in. There's no need to feel this way anymore. No need to continue abusing your gift. Give me your fear. Give me your hate. Your joy and passion…Give me your life…"_

It was then that Davion's memories reverted to the moment. That one moment in time. So frightful, so full of anger and sadness that the undead being was, for the first time in the ordeal, spooked. It was enough. The spell over the ranger was weakened.

With all of his remaining strength, the ranger reached at his belt for his throwing dagger and whipped it out towards the attacking warlock.

The spell stopped. The memories were reconstituted. And the stolen years of life slowly returned.

The Forsaken tried to reach up and pull the dagger from its skull, but its mind was already fading.

_"Mind…and…heart…"_ it gasped.

Davion took the words as another spell, and quickly put an end to the undead being's suffering with a swift kick to the dagger's hilt. The weapon burst through the back of the creature's skull and flipped into the trunk of a nearby tree.

--

"What gives?" Trezner Shadowlit whispered to himself. He heard them already: the heavy steps of tauren hooves making their way up the trail to his door. What made him think this wasn't going to be a pleasant visit was the fact that this unknown tauren was easing his steps.

Attempted sneakiness, he thought, and found some humor in the cosmic irony of it all.

With a shrug, the blood elf sat up from his bed to await his visitors at the doorway. While he waited, he reached his hand into a pouch at his belt and began to rub at a mana crystal. He breathed deep and felt the tingling at the back of his neck disappear as he absorbed the crystal's magical energies.

"Blisssss," he hissed. "Five days…"

The door flew inwards. But instead of killing the intruder like he had intended, Trezner took a look at who his visitor was and smiled.

"How could I forget those awkward steps?!" Trezner shouted with glee. "Kimuriel Kyladar! A more welcome walking steak, there could never be. C'mere!"

The blood elf went in for a hug, but was blocked by a large, fuzzy paw.

"Okay, then," said Trezner. "I guess you're not here for buddy talk."

"No," Kimuriel affirmed. "I've come about a grave matter."

"Grave matters are my specialty," the rogue said with a grin. "What can I help you with?"

"A human was killed last night at Southshore—"

"Ooooo, I like this story already," the elf interrupted.

"Quiet, Trezner," Kimuriel scolded. "It was a marked kill. I need to know if you had a hand in it."

The rogue had a look of insult on his face. "Do you mean to infer that I go killing around here? Never," he said sternly. "This is where I go to escape. I travel all over Azeroth chasing after marks with the possibility of death around every corner. Now why, my friend, would I come here and disrupt the only measure of peace I have in the world?"

The tauren was about to say something, but was cut off.

"I wouldn't."

"I know!" roared Kimuriel, to keep the elf from speaking for the moment. "But you must see it from my perspective. There was a time when you weren't as reserved about killing as you are now."

"You would speak to me about death, _bloodguard_?"

Hearing his old rank uttered by the elf made Kimuriel's mane go ridged with anger. The feral spirits within him were already twisting his paw into the form of a bear claw.

"Nice to see you haven't forgotten," said Trezner, seeing the transformation. "Spilt blood doesn't guide my step anymore, my friend. I'm not out to topple kingdoms or raze villages or see the Horde banner spiked through the forehead of another dead Alliance commander. The craft of war is lost on me, as it is on you. The only difference is I wasn't able to cast my weapons aside as easily. This is still all I can do in the world."

Kimuriel's paw returned to normal. "You still have a choice," he said. "You deserve peace as well."

The elf crossed his arms. The fading light only accentuated the green glow of his eyes.

"You were a soldier in the same war as I," Trezner began. "There comes a time, when death becomes commonplace, that allegiance disappears. When shouting 'For the Horde' at the top of your lungs begins to lose its meaning. You stop seeing a fight between two nations and begin to see the true evil of the situation. Now, I can honestly say I'll never have a love for anyone of the Alliance, but I can tell you that true evil can exist on both sides. Everywhere. That is why I keep my daggers close…The war may be dying out, but there is still much evil to be undone."

"So you would fight your own kind?" asked Kimuriel.

"If they would seek to bring war, death and destruction to the land I call home, then they are not my kind to begin with."

The tauren nodded and turned back to the doorway. "Keep those long, pointed ears of yours open. I need find who did this."

"And you need to fix my door!" the elf called after him, but Kimuriel simply waved and continued walking.

Trezner recognized the situation as a rather dire one. Everyone in Tarren Mill knew how little it would take to spark another conflict in the Hillsbrad Foothills; but he never thought it would happen like this. With an assassination, of all things. It sounded all too random, but, then again, all too perfect.

He didn't know any rogue of these lands that would dare act in this manner as to threaten the fragile peace of the two towns.

But…he did have his suspicions.

"Couldn't be," Trezner argued with himself. "It's a play stuck in its first act. Too incomplete to be…"

He thought about it until the sun disappeared behind the hills to the west.

The only way these suspicions would have any validity, he though, would be if one of Tarren Mill was met with a similar shadowy fate.

"Too farfetched," he said.

Once again, he reached into the pouch at his belt.

"Three hours."

--

When Kimuriel returned to town, another crowd had formed. This time, they had formed around the town windmill that he and Rasmon had been trying to repair earlier.

"Dead!" a Forsaken woman shrieked. "He's dead!

Kimuriel hurried to the center of the crowd and found a pile of dust and bone at his hooves.

"What is this?" he asked.

"His name was Gerard," an orc replied. "We could only tell by the necklace we found in the mill with him." With a deep breath, he raised his fist into the air and shouted, "Death to the Alliance!"

He was met by much applause.

"We don't know!" Kimuriel countered. "This could have been a terrible accident. There is no reason to think that the Alliance would do something like this after all this time."

"I don't like the way you speak!" the orc grunted. "First you let the Alli trespass on our lands without punishment, and now this! Damn the Alliance, I say! Their death has been a long time coming!"

The crowd was beginning to get worked up.

"For the Horde!" the orc shouted.

"FOR THE HORDE!" the crowd cried back.

Under the shouts and battle-cries, Kimuriel could only shake his head in distress.

"This can't be happening," he said to himself.

Then, all at once, a revelation.

Rasmon had seen the body. And Kimuriel knew exactly where he had gone.

He had felt a disturbance in the natural order, but it had been at the back of his mind in the light of the confrontation with Trezner.

Slowly, he backed away from the crowd and left to find Rasmon. There was no need to worry about the town doing anything hasty. Not yet, anyways.

He knew Rasmon had gone to pick a fight with the hunter, but wasn't sure if he was alive or dead, but either way, his friend might have just pushed the situation past its breaking point.


	5. Powder Keg

* * *

"World of Warcraft – The Wrath of Tarren Mill"

Chapter Four – Powder Keg

* * *

The forest ended at a meadow. It was a sight of reprieve and relaxation—thus Davion couldn't help but collapse into the soft grass to let his aching and drained body catch its step. The world seemed to be spinning much faster to him, but nature paid no heed. The nearby stream still ran diligently. The trees of the forest rustled and waved with the wind. Birds flew contently under the bright blue sky.

It all sickened him. Everything was _fine_, and that's what he hated. Because depending on how the Horde interpreted his actions against the Forsaken warlock, it was very possible that nothing in the Hillsbrad Foothills would be _fine_ anymore. He could see the anxiousness in the crowd's actions back at Tarren Mill. They were waiting, just waiting for him to slip up. Say the wrong set of words. Look at them in an insulting manner.

The monsters were waiting for any reason, and he may have just given it to them.

He sat up in the grass and roared into the open air. Anger was beginning to consume him. Everything that was happening seemed to be separate from him. As if, there was a war coming, and everyone in the Foothills were playing into it blindly.

Was there anything he could do to stop it? he wondered. Was there anything that he could do to free himself from being tarried about by this invisible presence?

All he could do was guess. Given what had just happened, what would he be expected to do next? Any self-respecting member of the Alliance would immediately report the Forsaken's actions to Southshore as an act of war. After the rather devastating and calculated attack, part of Davion certainly considered warning the town of what had happened.

That would be the first thing that he would do, so he decided to do the opposite: Keep it secret.

"Get up," he whispered, and forced himself to his feet.

The ranger moved at a hindered pace across the faded dirt trail that stretched across the meadow. The trail that represented the line that might become blurred in the following days—The Meridian Line.

--

Rasmon's body was found strewn across the forest floor near a downed tree. Kimuriel could already see what had happened. The event had caused such a disturbance in the forest that he could almost see the fight play out in front of his eyes.

The tree was struck with a bolt of shadow to bring it down and startle the ranger. He could see the skinny footprints of the Forsaken pacing in circles; the land around the prints charred from the warlock gathering strength from the life around him. But the prints stopped at the corpse, presumably where Rasmon tried to cast a spell of some sort. How this Davion Nalick had managed to disrupt the powerful caster's spell was unknown, but the result was devastating.

"Curse you, Rasmon," Kimuriel sighed. "There may come a time when you won't come back. You must have seen Gerard. If you continue these reckless acts of violence then you might stay dead."

The tauren, being a druid, had the power to infuse life back into his undead—now dead—friend. Yet, the resurrection came at the cost of his abilities for several days. Abilities which he needed intact for just a while longer.

If this human ranger had indeed survived the attack long enough to make it back to Southshore, then he would more than likely tell his fellow Alliance citizens that this altercation was the Horde's way of showing their intent to go to war.

He couldn't have that. As much as he hated the thought of further bloodshed, sometimes death is indeed necessary to protect the greater good.

Kimuriel focused intensely on the feral spirits within him, calling forth the swiftness he needed to beat the human back to his town. A green light enveloped his large body. The aura began to distort and reform the tauren's giant-like body. His bones cracked and twisted and his form shrank significantly. When the process was over, he had attained the form of a prairie lion, one of the fastest creatures in the world committed to land.

It had been some time since he had to change forms, so the next few minutes were spent fighting the natural urges of the feline until he was back in control of his body. He took a relaxing breath before shifting around on his paws and sprinting through the forest at an insane pace.

Even now, he still dreaded what had to be done. In order for the peace to remain in the Hillsbrad Foothills, the ranger, Davion Nalick, had to die.

--

The ranger's return to Southshore caused a crowd of concerned citizens to form almost immediately. Even Huraan, a draenei and one of the only non-human residents of the town, was drawn out of the inn to hear what had happened at Tarren Mill.

Davion was bombarded by questions, but he hadn't the stomach to answer any of them just yet. He had to speak with the mayor first and foremost. It wasn't long before the man was running up to the ranger.

"Get everyone back!" the mayor ordered the guards. "Give me a private word with the man."

"Its been a while since you've been glad to see me, Mister Mayor," Davion quipped.

The mayor shrugged. "Glad? That'll depend on what news you have for me."

"News…Right." The ranger was never good at lying. Even the tauren could see right through his charade.

Still, he lied through his teeth. He spun his tale right there on the main street for the mayor. And for better or for worse, the man believe him.

By the time Davion left Southshore for his own home, the town was content in the fact that they were safe—that their life would continue unimpeded. Though, the ranger held no reservations about his own. He had still killed a member of the Horde; even in self-defense, it might be just cause for those at Tarren Mill to retaliate in a manner they see fit.

All of his worries were pushed to the back of his mind when he caught sight of his cabin through the trees, just at the top of the hill.

From his porch, he could see the entirety of Southshore off in the distance. Everything was back to normal. The tiny dots were moving about from building to building. Fishing boats were arriving back at the docks to unload their haul. Smoke was rising from various chimneys.

It was a welcome sight to be sure.

He had heard the footsteps behind him, but he didn't care. It was one of Horde, he knew. Probably here to exact bloody revenge. If all it would cost him was his life to stop a possible war, he could be content in that.

Davion braced for any sort of pain in his back. He couldn't help wondering how the creature would come at him.

_"It troubles me,"_ came a familiar voice, _"why you would rather be on the outside looking in."_

The tauren, Kimuriel, walked up to Davion's side and similarly looked down upon the city.

"What does it matter?" Davion shrugged. "You here to kill me?"

_"You'll be hard pressed to find anyone of the Horde who would strike up conversation with a potential victim,"_ Kimuriel teased. _"Though, I have to admit, that was the reason I followed you."_

"Doesn't surprise me. I suppose you found the body."

_"Won't be the last time,"_ the tauren snorted in amusement. _"A death in revenge is the most pointless of all. The very meaning of such a thing gets lost in time and affects more people than it should."_

The ranger nodded.

_"No, I came here to kill you because I believed you were going to tell your precious Alliance about the attack."_

"I can't help but notice you didn't go through with it."

_"I was serious when I told you that I've put conflict behind me."_

"Even so," Davion said, "can't say I would have hesitated like you with so much on the line."

_"Well,"_ the tauren grinned, _"to each his own. And it turned out for the best, anyhow."_

"Not completely sure that the fine citizens of Southshore would have done much to avenge the attack on my life either way. I'm not the most…liked around their town."

Kimuriel looked confused. _"Their town? Is it not yours as well?"_

"It can never be mine." Davion looked down at the grey city with a measure of longing. It wasn't subtle by any means, even the tauren caught sight of his expression.

_"Such sadness,"_ Kimuriel mused. _"Might that be the memory that broke Rasmon's fear spell?"_

"Rasmon?" asked the ranger. "That was his name?"

The tauren nodded. _"One of only two people that I've known from the war. He and Trezner Shadowlit can't seem to keep out of my affairs. I blame their stubbornness."_

"War can sever so many bonds," said Davion, "but it can also create and strengthen some you never thought possible."

Kimuriel sighed. _"Very true, sadly."_

"I'm sure you couldn't tell by looking at me just how true that is."

The tauren was again thrown into confusion. "I don't understand."

Davion reached up and pushed his long, dark-brown hair away from his face. Kimuriel looked closely, and was completely shaken by what he saw.

_"Sin'dorei?!"_ he gasped. _"An elf?" _The man had pointed ears. Certainly not as long as a typical blood elf, but they were still definitely noticeable. It was only after seeing the ears that he noticed the bright green tint of the ranger's eyes—another telltale sign of the Sin'dorei.

"Only half," Davion corrected. "When the war here was over and the cleanup began, my father fell in love with my mother, a blood elf. Both of them saw sadness in each other as they carried back the bodies of their friends and fellow soldiers. I suppose that's why they fell for one another—misery loves company."

_"I must say, I'm more than surprised."_ Kimuriel said. _"I've not heard of a half-breed of any sort in…well there's never been one in my time. It's—"_

"Forbidden?"

Kimuriel nodded gravely.

"I was hardly in my teens when our house in the forest was swarmed with men in black cloaks. I never saw their faces, but they spoke Orcish and Common. My mother heard them coming and hid me in a compartment under the floorboards…" Davion hadn't spoken of the incident to anyone before. He stopped for a moment to calm himself, and to find irony in the fact that he was baring his soul to a member of the Horde. Why? Even he wasn't sure.

"They attacked my parents," he continued. "Tortured them. The men in cloaks called their marriage 'a blasphemy' repeatedly…They didn't stop the torture, and didn't leave until my mother and father were dead—three days later…And I had to watch it all. Then bury them myself…their hands were gripped together so tight. I don't think they let go of each other the entire time."

The tauren was heartbroken. He couldn't believe that Horde or Alliance was capable of that sort of travesty.

_"I'm sorry for your loss,"_ he said. _"I can understand how you can feel a certain amount of anxiety towards both sides."_

Davion shrugged. "It was a long time ago. I was born just after the war forty years ago." He answered Kimuriel's question before it was asked. "I stopped aging like a human when I turned twenty-five. A gift from my mother."

They stood in silence for a while. Both were focused in on the city. It was an awkward time for the ranger and tauren—for they could feel a similar sadness in each other. A bond had been struck, but they wondered to what end.

_"I remember longing to set foot in Southshore so that I might set every building within its borders ablaze," _said Kimuriel. _"Now, I couldn't imagine doing such a thing…It makes one wonder…"_

Davion looked over. "Wonder what?"

The tauren's expression grew solemn. _"Just whose war did I fight all those decades ago?"_

--

"Kimuriel!" Muu'peh was never subtle about anything he did. He trounced through the forest with big, awkward steps and shouted into the forest every few paces.

"Kimuriel! Where ya be, buddy?"

In the commotion surrounding Gerald's death, he believed himself to be the only one who saw Kimuriel sneak away from the crowd. He figured that the tauren had other things to do. He, personally, couldn't care for the undead man as it meant that a great amount of stupidity was involved to die not once, but twice.

He had it comin', then, he thought.

The sun was beginning to set behind the trees when he smelled the rotting flesh of an undead. Another reason he could care less about the Forsaken, they played havoc with his superior sense of smell.

Then he saw the body. Sprawled out beside a downed tree.

"No…" Muu'peh gasped.

Rasmon was the most powerful magic wielder in all of Tarren Mill. If he was dead…

"Alliance scum," he hissed. "Ya will pay for dis in blood!"

True, he had no love for the undead, but a strike at one member of the Horde is a strike at the whole.

All they would need is a single night. A single night to prepare for battle.


	6. As I Speak Your Death

* * *

"World of Warcraft – The Wrath of Tarren Mill"

Chapter Five – As I Speak Your Death

* * *

Near the western tip of the Hillsbrad Foothills, where the dark mist of the Silverpine Forest gives way to sunlight, an Alliance colony toils away. The Hillsbrad Fields provides Southshore with most of its food that isn't shipped in by boat, and in return, the workers not only get a profit, but a plot of land to call their own to homestead. It worked out beautifully, and motivated the farmers to no end.

Kalem Bonne left his house late. A rare occurrence that happened maybe once or twice a year. He wasn't sure what made him so lax this day, but he didn't particularly care. They were nearing the end of the season, and all the hard work was already out of the way. After a few more loose ends, the shipment would be ready for Southshore, conceivably within the week.

He was happy it was almost over. Not only because it meant three weeks of doing nothing but relaxing—or perhaps a trip to Westfall and enjoy some time at the beach. There was also the Hinterlands where he could enjoy the mountain air with the dwarves. He remembered a dwarven friend of his moving there some time ago, perhaps he could bother him for a place to stay up there?  
Too much to think about. I can wonder about it when the time comes, he thought. For now, time for work.

As Kalem stepped out onto the fields, his fellow farmhands were snickering at his tardiness.

"Eyes to the dirt, mates," Kalem spouted. "It's a man's right to sleep in as long as he needs to."

"Say that tomorrow when I stay in bed past midday!" a farmer chuckled.

"You've no need to sleep in when I'm payin' ya to do otherwise. I expect to see tired eyes everyday 'til this land yields nothing but dust!"

The farmers collectively scoffed at Kalem and got back to work at an enthusiastic pace. They were feeling the end of the season fast approaching as well. The leaves turning meant a payday was soon to follow.

"That's what I like to see," Kalem said to himself. "We're on the home stretch."

He walked the path down to the apple orchards where a small squad of men were picking the fruits frantically.

"G'morning, Kalem," said one of the pickers. "Making the rounds a bit late today."

"More important matters to attend to, Jaril," Kalem replied. "Fixin' to get the bushels off by the end of the day? You boys are movin' faster than usual."

Jaril stopped pulling at the tree and looked around. "Heard the rumors?" he asked.

"Can't say that I have? Why?"

"Matthew just got back from taking a load of flour over to Southshore," said Jaril. "He says everyone over there was getting ready for a war."

Kalem stood stunned. "War?"

Another picker, Adam, cut in. "Matthew didn't say they was getting ready for war. He said they was scared that one might happen."

"Same difference," Jaril grunted.

"No, because you made it sound like they was already grabbing up their swords and drawing battle-lines. They was just spooked is all."

"Tarren Mill's been causing problems again?" Kalem asked.

"More than a bit." Adam took the reins of the conversation from Jaril. "Matthew said someone turned up dead on their side of the Line."

"Old Melvin Proctor," Jaril corrected.

"Bah!" Kalem shook off the tension. "That old coot's been threatening to keel over for years. How he even managed to survive that orc encounter, I'll never know."

"We know, Kalem." Adam raised his arms, surrendering the point. "All I'm saying is people were spooked. Word spread, now everyone 'round here is spooked clean off their horses. Everyone's just waiting for the pay to roll around so they can get out of here before something starts up."

"Before something starts up, eh?" Kalem couldn't believe his own people were buying into gossip. "Battle hasn't been fought here for decades. As much as I hate those beasts at Tarren Mill—they're over there and we're over here. Save the gory swordplay for those lunatics at Stranglethorn."

Adam shrugged. "I don't know. We can't expect to be buddy-buddy with the Horde forever around here. The Foothills are way too small for us to not rub elbows eventually."

"Much rather take my chances in Silverpine if that happens," said Jaril.

Kalem held up a hand to put a stop to the talk. "Just get back to work," he said. "Finish up your duties then you can light on out of here and not look back until next month."

Adam laughed. "Pardon me, Kalem, but if things get bad, then I'm not even gonna come back. You can kiss me goodby—"

Everyone in the orchard heard it, but couldn't see what it was until it was jutting out of Adam's chest. A flaming arrow—and the man it was sticking out of seemed less surprised than everyone else as he collapsed onto the ground.

"Wha—" Kalem began to say before he was cut off by a loud snap that cracked through the air. Soon after, the workers saw the wall of flame moving across the sky. It came down with a crash—the mass of arrows decimating the farmhands and setting fire to the fields.

For the life of him, Kalem couldn't understand what was happening. He was running as hard as his legs could carry him, but he wasn't even sure what he was running from! It wasn't until he saw the group in the distance, only then did he realize what was befalling the Hillsbrad Fields.

Another volley of flaming arrows dropped onto the grounds, killing more innocents as they ran for cover in buildings that were beginning to catch fire.

It didn't seem real to Kalem. The carnage of it all. Every face upon the dirt was a man or woman he had known for years. Everyone felled was a friend that he held dearly as family.

He continued running towards the forest where he might have a chance. There were a few others along side him that had the same idea.

_"LOK TAGU NOGAH!"_ He heard as he ran. Only seconds later, he felt an unbearable pain emerge in his leg, bringing him down hard to the ground as another volley fell around him.

Not thinking, Kalem ripped the arrow from his leg, only making the pain that much worse. Unable to move, all he could do was clutch his wound and watch as the group of creatures spilled into the Hillsbrad Fields—killing everyone on the ground who still managed to breathe.

All he could do was wait. He had no intention of crawling away. Either way, he was going to be caught and killed. At least this way, he thought, he could at least go out like his friends had.

A rather giant orc marched towards Kalem, eyes gleaming through a rusted helm. It breathed heavily, and seemingly laughed as it brought a giant battleaxe up over its head.

_"Lazemprah!"_ it said, bringing its weapon down on the farmer.

Kalem's only regret was that he didn't sleep in longer.

--

The slaughter occurring in the Hillsbrad Fields sent a shiver of sadness across the land. A darkness that shook Davion from his sleep. At first, he believed it to be a nightmare, but he could still feel the sinking sensation even now.

He had a guess of what might have happened, but he didn't want to think about it. He needed to see for himself.

Davion sat up from his bed and went about grabbing his gear. He had almost forgotten that the tauren was still about—curled up on the floor and deep into slumber.

"Wake up, you!" the ranger shouted, still moving from one corner of the cabin to the other to claim his weapons. "How can you call yourself a druid if you cannot sense this?!"

_"Pardon me, Kalem,"_ Kimuriel muttered in his sleep.

The words confused Davion and stopped him in his tracks. "What did you say?"

_"If things get back, I'm not even gonna come back."_

The ranger was dumbfounded.

_"You can just kiss me goodby—RAH!"_ The tauren leapt up onto his hooves, grabbing his chest frantically.

"Hey!" Davion tried to get a hold of the druid to calm him down, but got himself tossed about in the process. "Calm yourself, tauren!"

Kimuriel snapped out of his tantrum and caught his breath. The look of horror not yet departed from his face. He stretched out with his feelings and knew what had happened on the other side of the Foothills.

_"NO!"_ he bellowed. _"NO!"_

"Tauren, what's happened?" Davion asked, but there was no reply. "Kimuriel, what has happened? You've sensed it too! What is it?"

Kimuriel finally settled down. His face twisted into a look of grim acceptance.

_"Their war,"_ he said flatly, _"it has begun…"_


	7. The Best Laid Plans

* * *

"World of Warcraft – The Wrath of Tarren Mill"

Chapter Six – The Best Laid Plans...

* * *

"_Let us hope that we don't meet again soon,"_ Kimuriel said solemnly. _"I fear that if we do, it will be on the field of battle."_

Davion couldn't believe that things had deteriorated so much in one night. The way the situation looked from his hill, he wasn't sure if anything could be reversed successfully. This was the Horde's mess at the moment, and it was up to the tauren to ensure that it got no further. And it was up to the ranger to make sure than Southshore didn't march of Tarren Mill.

"I don't know if I can sway the town leaders easily," Davion admitted. "The Hillsbrad Fields…people around here have family out there. If they want to strike back, then there's not going to be a damn thing I can do about it."

_"I understand,"_ replied the druid. _"Do what you can. This land deserves the effort on both our parts at the very least."_

"I'll do my best."

_"I know you will,"_ said Kimuriel. _"I trust you."_

This made a feeling of pride swell within Davion. He was glad, after all these long years, to have someone out there actually believe in him—Horde or no.

The tauren grinned at the ranger briefly before trotting off into the forest; his cat form absorbing him as he ran.

When the beast had disappeared out of sight, Davion turned and sprinted down the hill towards the city below.

--

Every guard that Southshore had to offer was patrolling the borders. Wooden barriers were being constructed at the head of the main street and people were being persuaded to remain indoors. The citizens, understandably, were not as cooperative as the mayor believed they would be.

"The Fields burn and you want us to stay inside?!" someone shouted. "Those are our friends over there!"

"We need to send word to Ironforge!"

"The dwarves would never help us in this matter! What do they care of a few humans up in the mountains?"

"They're our closest allies! They'll come if they're needed."

"Like hell! They'd sooner watch us burn than spare the soldiers."

"Let us send word to Stormwind, then. A ship could reach their docks in but a few days time and bring an army within the week!"

"A week? You must have your head in the clouds. Take a look around you! Southshore will be reduced to rubble before the week is out!"

The mayor roared at the crowd. "Quiet! This does not help what must be done!"

"And what must be done, mayor? Are we to sit here and wait for our deaths?"

"I never said anything of the sort," said the mayor. "We are citizens of the Alliance. It's our duty to keep our heads and sort through this in a rational manner."

"I'll give you _rational manner_! Let's evacuate! Pack our things and head towards Refuge Pointe. They'll take us in and keep us safe until we can get passage elsewhere."

"Oh, and how do you wish to do that, friend?" The mayor was becoming annoyed. "The only safe trail through to the Arathi Highlands is along the Meridian Line—which the Horde will surely be guarding. The next safest trail leads through the dark of the forest and near yeti territory. Just try and get every man, woman, and child through there without incident."

"Hmph."

"We're stuck here for the time being, my fellow citizens. We've not a boat to carry everyone in town and no way to get out of the Foothills. So, we stay where it's safest…which is right here!"

The group ceased their chatter. Their gazes fell to their feet in shame.

"Fear not," said the mayor. "Our guards are well trained. Tarren Mill has been out of the fight as long as Southshore. Their warriors are surely softer than they once were. Any attack will be repelled swiftly. Until that time, if it comes, I have indeed sent one of our fishing ships towards Stormwind to bring reinforcements….Help is on the way."

The mayor heard footsteps behind him. Turning, he found the ranger standing next to him.

"You must have already heard," said Davion.

"Didn't have to _hear_, Nalick." The mayor pointed up above the eastern treeline. "You can see it just there."

Sure enough, a small column of smoke was making its way up into the clouds.

"I see," Davion breathed. "If I might ask, what do you intend to do about it?"

The mayor sighed. "I'm following procedure. If the Horde ever interferes with the affairs of the Alliance, then I'm to keep everyone calm and send word to Stormwind. Both of which I have already done."

"No way I can talk you out of this?"

"Talk me out of this? What do you mean by that?"

Davion took the mayor aside, away from the crowd. "You realize what this could mean if you call on soldiers from Stormwind?"

"I've had years to think of what it could mean if the Horde ever pulled a stunt like this," the mayor spat. "Years! There's nothing I can do! My hands are tied! An entire farming colony is burning, its people most likely along with it. If I sit on my hands…like I want to…there'd be problems."

"Problems?"

"Riots. Mass hysteria. Not to mention the fact that the Horde might be walking down that road by day's end, Davion!" The mayor caught himself from almost flying off the handle. "Look…I know why you're here. I don't want conflict in these lands any more than you do…I've seen this land destroyed once, and I wouldn't like to see that again. But if its between a lot of trees and our people…I'd choose our people any day."

The ranger grimaced. There was nothing more that could be done.

"I know, Davion," the mayor put a hand on the ranger's shoulder. "As much as I don't show it, I'm very thankful to have someone like you around. Lets me know when I'm being too rash. Too harsh. Not thinking things through or not acting in the best interest of the world around us. I thank you for that."

Davion nodded in acceptance.

"You've done more for us than we deserve," the mayor continued. "Especially after what happened to your parents…"

The ranger's gaze shot up. "How…How did you know?"

"I was a friend of your father's. After the war, he was one of the very few of us who tried to bring life back to these lands. When he fell for your mother, I would always tell him how dangerous such a relationship was. There were still a great many people out there who were fiercely against such a thing…And they claimed him in time. His absence only meant one thing…"

"Why did you say nothing about it?" Davion's voice broke. "Why did you—"

"I didn't want to, Davion. I wanted you close, but I didn't want you too close…if we let you run around Southshore as freely as I wanted you to, then it would only be a matter of days before your heritage was found out. We'd be forced to exile you, and I couldn't have that."

The ranger understood, but was still hurt by the deception. "Is there a reason you're telling me all of this now?"

The mayor snickered. "Our time here is drawing to a close, I think. No point in keeping it from you now." He clapped Davion on the shoulder. "When the reinforcements get here, Tarren Mill will burn for what they've done. The Horde will retaliate, and Southshore will suffer the same fate. Then…Then things will get all too familiar around here."

Suddenly, the bell from the watchtower was ringing.

"Perhaps sooner than I thought," the mayor said, running to the tower.

The citizens were already scattering throughout the streets, grabbing their belongings and gathering up their families. The city was but a step away from chaos.

"Tower!" the mayor called out. "What do you see?!"

The guard on the tower leaned over the railing. "Black sails on the southern horizon, sir!"

Davion and the mayor looked at each other briefly before uttering in unison: "Black sails?" The pair quickly made their way to the docks on the southern end of town; shouting at people to calm down and that there was nothing to worry about.

"The Horde wouldn't try anything like this, would they?" asked the mayor. "Attack by land and by sea?"

"No," Davion replied, still keeping pace. "No, this is something else."

They arrived on the docks. A small group of guards was already standing at its edge with weapons drawn.

"Step back, men," the mayor ordered. "If they wanted you dead, you'd be in perfect position for a volley! Back up!"

The guards quickly retreated back beside the mayor and Davion.

The ship was quite large and very well crafted. Its sides were scathed with the scars of battle, and the black sails were punctured in a few places. It was very obvious this vessel had seen much death in its time.

Before the ship was too close, something lifted up off of the deck and flew into the air. The guards followed the object with the tips of their swords as it circled the dock several times.

"We are soldiers of the Alliance!" a voice called from the object. "Permission to land!"

The mayor wasn't quite sure what to say. It certainly didn't look like he had a choice in the matter, as the wrong answer would put them in early graves either way.

"Y—Yes!" The mayor shouted up at the object. "Permission granted!"

Slowly, the object circled downwards until the people on the dock were able to get a clear view of what it was exactly: A griffin. Proud and majestic, with sunlight streaming through the feathers of its large wings. On its back, a warrior clad in the finest armor any of Southshore had ever seen.

The griffin landed on the dock very gracefully, digging its talons into the wood as it stood.

The warrior stepped off the beast, causing a loud thump when he hit the planks. His armor, while still very nice up close, had as many marks across it as the ship he departed from. While he was definitely a seasoned warrior, his face didn't seem to express any aggression at all. He was happy, and smiled widely at his fellow citizens of the Alliance.

"Greetings," said the warrior. "My name is Tohjm Vonders. I am the guildmaster of Tyranny's Bane. We have received word that you have a problem with some local Horde and need assistance."

The mayor was silent for a few moments until Davion nudged him. "Excuse me, warrior. While we do indeed have an immediate problem, we sent for help but a few hours ago. It couldn't possibly be us that sent word."

Tohjm shrugged and laughed heartily. "Perhaps it was fate! If the monsters of the Horde threaten you, then the brave of Tyranny's Bane will not be far behind! Haha!"

"And what does your guild want in return?" Davion spoke up.

"What do you mean, ranger?" asked Tohjm.

"Guilds hardly do charity work. Are you expecting any sort of compensation out of this?" The ranger stared him down.

The warrior grew saddened. "You'll find that every man and woman in our guild has lost someone dear to them. People lost to the Horde who should have been by our sides for many more years to come…My wife, for example…cut down by a group of nomadic trolls near Duskwood." He stepped forward. "To answer your question, there is no compensation that you can provide. Death to the abominations beyond those hills is all that we will ever require."

Davion said nothing.

"You've nothing to fear from us, Master Ranger," assured Tohjm. "We will get the job done most efficiently."

--

He could feel the rock of the ledge crumbling beneath his feet. It had been ages since he had traversed the treacherous paths up the side of the Darkscale Mountain.

Actually, Trezner remembered, it was just after the war. He made the climb to report his acts to the Lord of the Assassin's League before committing to affairs in other parts of Azeroth. The elf wasn't sure if he could get a word in edgewise with his former master, but it was worth a shot.

Another body had turned up on the Horde's side, which meant that his worst fears were coming to fruition. A large scale operation was taking place in the Hillsbrad Foothills. And when none of the residents knew who to blame, he always knew to check the shadows.

He had to try. He owed Kimuriel that much, at the very least.

Trezner found the right ledge and pulled himself upwards. He could already see the wooden spires that he knew to sit atop Raveholdt Manor…


	8. Loose Ends

* * *

"World of Warcraft – The Wrath of Tarren Mill"

Chapter Seven – Loose Ends

* * *

By the time Kimuriel returned to Rasmon's body, he could already tell someone had been there. Long, awkward footprints—probably that of a troll, he figured. Muu'peh was the only one of Tarren Mill that he could think of that would stray this far. An unfortunate turn of events, but the tauren knew it was his own fault for leaving the body out in the open like that. He cursed at himself before kneeling over the body.

"Forgive me, Rasmon," Kimuriel whispered to the Forsaken corpse. "I bring you back now for reasons you'll find selfish, but I need your help in this."

The tauren held his paws over the body to find the tether. He had already found Rasmon's spirit many times before, so making the connection to the tether wasn't difficult at all. When he could feel the familiar presence at the back of his mind, he unleashed all of the magic within him. The green wave rushed through the corpse, making its way down the tether and into the spirit realm. Mana crystals formed on the ground around the pair.

_"Raef ruoy em eviggive me your fear."_

_"Etah ruoy em eviggive me your hate."_

_"Noissap dna yoj ruoyyour joy and passion."_

Kimuriel could hear the scrambled last words of the spirit as it was drawn closer to the body. Judging by its tone, it was definitely Rasmon at the end of the tether.

_"Efil ruoy em eviggive me your life!"_

The Forsaken shot up and his arm shot out in front of him. Kimuriel quickly stepped out of the way of a shadow bolt that went about tearing a hole through a tree trunk next to them.

"AHHHH!" Rasmon shouted into the forest uncontrollably. The pain of spirit reuniting with body has been described as being lit aflame while being drowned in salt. He thrashed about, his boney arms and legs throwing dirt around. Kimuriel could do nothing but watch helplessly.

In an instant, the process was over. The pain stopped. Rasmon stood up as if nothing had happened. He tilted his head to the side, cracking his neck. "Where is he?" the Forsaken demanded.

The tauren disregarded the question. "Welcome back, old friend. I hate to throw you back into the fray, but I need you to—"

"Where is he?" Rasmon repeated, more sternly this time.

"I cannot give you the ranger," replied Kimuriel. He knew Rasmon's first inclination would be to avenge himself. "He is no threat to the Horde."

"No threat?!" the undead man's voice cracked, scaring away some birds. "How can you say that when he walks about with two murders to his name?!"

"He didn't kill Gerard, Rasmon." He was about to make his point when he was cut off.

"He killed me!"

Kimuriel continued. "You attacked first, I imagine."

"Don't..." the Forsaken paused. He hated being read. "Don't…presume to know what I did! You don't know me, cow!"

"We don't have time for this, Rasmon. Someone found your body!"

"Did they?"

"Yes!"

"Hmph." Rasmon brushed some dirt from his shoulders. "Started a war, did I?"

"Started. And you're most definitely going to end it!"

"Why should I do that? They're just Alliance." Rasmon shrugged. "With them gone, we own every inch of land from Tarren Mill to Lordaeron. One step closer to claiming everything this side of Khaz Modan."

The Forsaken took a step back when he saw anger suddenly flare up in Kimuriel's eyes. The massive tauren gripped Rasmon by the collar and lifted him up into the air.

"I care not about your war!" Kimuriel's shouting threw a gust of air in Rasmon's face. "If the attack on the Alliance continues any further, then we'll have Ironforge and Stormwind at our backs! This land will be destroyed before year's end! I will not fill in another battle trench in the Foothills ever again! Not as long as I live! Do I make myself clear?!"

Rasmon didn't respond for a moment. He simply let himself hang there, bewildered and dazed by his friend's rage—the likes of which, he had never so much as glimpsed since the war.

The Forsaken slowly gave Kimuriel a thumbs-up. "Crystal clear…"

--

Trezner stepped onto the grassy plateau atop the Darkscale Mountain. After such a treacherous climb, he still couldn't wrap his mind around the fact that there was a thriving community here. There were fields of vegetables that spread nearly to the plateau's edge—and the sharp drop to the base of the mountain. People of every race of either faction toiled away, gathering food and hauling them to their respective storage shacks.

The elf found the start of the well-worn path and began to follow it through the fields and up the grassy hill at the head of the plateau. Sitting on this hill: Ravenholdt Manor—still casting a darker-than-dark shadow over the land, Trezner noticed.

Many of the workers looked up from what they were doing to gape at the black-cloaked blood elf wandering nonchalantly towards their collective home. One of them, a noticeably striking night elf blocked Trezner from continuing any further. She adjusted her hat and quickly wiped some dirt from her face.

"Do you know where you are, sin'dorei?" the night elf asked sternly. "This is not a place in which you want to get lost." Her glowing, blue eyes started to look over him.

"Am I lost, Simone?" Trezner recognized the landscaper, but was rather surprised she hadn't recognized him. "You look as if you would actually do something about it."

Simone suddenly twitched. She hadn't remembered the blood elf's face, but she remembered the perpetually-condescending voice. "Trezner Shadowlit! Is that really you?" She leaned from side to side to examine his face.

"Is it really that hard to believe?"

"Only because more than a few decades passed since you last walked this path!" Simone couldn't help but lean over to hug him. "I had all but given up on ever seeing the Grand Master Rogue return!" She backed up out of the embrace and fell quiet; looking around as though she had said something wrong. "_Former_ Grand Master, I should say…"

"Ah." Trezner knew what that meant. "Someone had to take my place, I suppose. It matters not."

"He's a human."

"A human?!" The blood elf's explosion caused many of the workers to look up from the fields. He quickly calmed himself. It was easy for memories from so long ago to be so vivid when decades seem to pass like days. "It's alright," he breathed. "It matters not…much…"

"Are you here to see Lord Ravenholdt?" The night elf could see her old friend wasn't here to talk about the old days.

"If he'll see me."

"Of course he'll see you! You were his _dark hand_ for so long, I'm sure he'll be thrilled to see you back among the family. All of these new rogues will probably learn all they need to know just by looking at you! Most weren't even alive to see the day _the Lycan_ walked their halls."

Trezner began to walk towards Ravenhold Manor on his own. Simone skipped a few paces to catch up to him. "I'm not here to rejoin the family," he said. "And don't call me the Lycan."

--

Jorach Ravenholdt. Lord of the Assassin's League. The dark center that the underworld revolved around. He stood in his chambers awaiting the visitor. Before Trezner was even at the door, Ravenholdt knew the Lycan had returned. Footsteps might as well have been fingerprints to the old human. He grinned ever so slightly, remembering the trail of bodies that his former dark hand had left to the League's credit.

"Welcome home," he whispered.

The door swung in, and the blood elf rogue stood in the man's sights.

"Trezner Shadowlit!" Ravenholdt exclaimed. "My old elven friend. How are you, my boy?"

"Surviving," Trezner replied, stepping into the room to shake hands with his old master. He couldn't but help but notice the man hadn't aged a day. "And so are you apparently. That dragon's venom is still fighting time's impact on you, I see."

"Jealous?"

"A bit. Never thought I'd see the day that a human might outlive me."

"With a little luck, maybe." Ravenholdt winked before turning back to his seat at a desk. "Simone must have been excited to see your return after all these years."

"Ecstatic, to say the least." The blood elf sat down in a small chair on the other side of the desk.

"I can only imagine." The old man breathed in sharply, as if to bring an end to the formalities. "So, just by looking at you, I can guess that you're not here to retake your place in the family. Besides pleasant conversation, I can't begin to understand why you would return after our last little chat."

"No offense to you, Lord Ravenholdt, but were it not for recent events, then I would have continued my exile well into the future."

"It hurts me for you to use the term 'exile'. For many of the rogues here, you never left. Most of the techniques that you taught in these halls are still being echoed in the ears of initiates."

"Flattering." Trezner wanted to move the conversation along. "If I might speak bluntly, my lord."

"Speak however you want, Lycan."

Trezner shuttered at the use of his old nickname, but didn't speak up about it. "Something's been happening in the Hillsbrad Foothills." He could have sworn the old man grinned at that. "Some people have turned up dead. Murdered, by the looks of it."

"Oh?" Ravenholdt shrugged. "I fail to see what this has to do with us."

"One on each side, Ravenholdt." The elf dropped the titles. "We discussed this almost a century ago when the Horde and Alliance began to make permanent settlements there. When they were beginning to interfere with our operations. One on each side. Make them point towards each other. Don't play dumb with me. Please."

Lord Ravenholdt nodded. His expression, calculating. "I would never lie to you, Trezner. You've done far too much for the family." He leaned forward. "Yes, we killed them."

Trezner felt a shiver crawl up his spine as the shock of the situation finally came crashing down around him. "You started all of this? Why?"

The old man stood up. With arms crossed behind his back, he stared out his window, which offered a clear view of the entire plateau and most of the Hillsbrad Foothills below. "You already have your answer, Lycan. Interference."

"We learned to live with Southshore and Tarren Mill. What's changed since then, huh?"

"The war changed everything, I'm afraid. We aren't an isolated colony up here, my friend, this is a base of operations. Our job is to destroy life. We dedicate our lives to this. Our futures. People need to die, just like people need to eat or drink or sleep. We provide a service, just as diners feed, taverns hydrate, and inns rest…we kill. War makes that incredibly difficult."

"The war's over!" Trezner couldn't understand what the man was saying.

"The war's over here. The battle rages on everywhere else in Azeroth. Makes business more than shifty, as you must certainly know. Oh, yes, I've heard of your travels from rogues returning from abroad." The man's eyes were lit up with resolve. His gaze met the blood elf's glowing stare. "Money keeps us afloat. Money keeps our blades moving across throats. Without it, we wither and die. We are but killers without rudders, and we are no different than common thieves."

Trezner still wasn't getting the answers he needed. "What does this have to do with Hillsbrad?"

"Surely, you must see it! Think!" Ravenholdt brought a fist down onto the desk. "Think about it! Tarren Mill attacks Southshore. Southshore burns. The Alliance retaliates in full force. The Forsaken of Lordaeron retaliate. Silvermoon City follows suit. Orgrimmar and Thunder Bluff flank the now defenseless Stormwind and Ironforge. Darnassus and the Exodar raze the emptied capitals of Kalimdor. What's left of the two armies clash at middle ground at Northrend. Think! The war will be over within a couple years!"

"Are you _insane_?! Nothing that big will happen that perfectly! And besides, who will be left to fund your precious monetary endeavors when this war of yours is over?"

"Only the armies will be gone, my friend. What's left will be nothing more or less than the status quo. And rest assured, Lycan, it _will_ happen that perfectly!"

Trezner sighed. "How can you possibly know that?"

Lord Ravenholdt grinned. "Let's just say…I've taken steps. No loose ends, as I always say."

--

The ragtag army of Tarren Mill spent the rest of the day celebrating their small victory over the Alliance. Other than the typical macabre rituals of dominance that involved many dismembered human corpses, the warriors feasted on every scrap of food that had been spared by the fire that tore through the Hillsbrad Fields.

They swung their weapons in the air and playfully struck each other with various severed body parts.

_"LOK TAGU NOGAH!"_ The army would repetitively cheer. _"LOK TAGU NOGAH!"_

In all the celebration, they didn't notice the approaching army until the sound of galloping horses echoed through the air.

They quickly formed ranks. Axes, swords, and shields at their ready. The warriors of the Horde roaring into the air as the Alliance army rode towards them.

"Tyranny's Bane!" One of the humans shouted. "FOR THE ALLIANCE!"

A thundercloud formed overhead.

Still deep in the forest, Kimuriel sprinted as fast as he could to bring Rasmon to the army's eyes. Without his druidic powers drained after the resurrection, he could go no faster. When he heard the deafening thunderclap echo through the air, he knew he was too late…


	9. Works of the Despaired

* * *

"World of Warcraft – The Wrath of Tarren Mill"

Chapter Eight – Works of the Despaired

* * *

When the soldiers of Tyranny's Bane were near enough to the Horde army, a spell was chanted into the air, and the mounts upon which they were riding vanished into thin air.

They rushed forward. With a majority of the guildmembers axe or sword-wielding warriors, the front line of Tyranny's Bane was a running wall of steel and brawn. Tohjm ran with his fellow warriors at the center, never one to let his rank keep him from what needed to be done.

The thunderstorm continued to build; a draenei shaman at the rear of the group stopped running to concentrate on the spell. The sun's rays grew dimmer by the second.

There were only seconds left until the two armies clashed. Arrows were already being fired from the Horde army; most being fired in a panic, and landing harmlessly into the ground. Only a few actually connected, but merely bounced off hardened armor.

Seconds left. Tohjm needed his distraction, and shouted into the air to signal it. "Elyase!" His voice carried across the battlefield.

Elyase, a dainty human girl, wearing a bright, purple colored robe and a tall, pointed hat, stopped the march along with the shaman. With her arm pointed towards a group of orc soldiers, she chanted the spell that would give her fearless leader the distraction he needed. She only hoped it would be enough in this case.

Her whispers carried through the elements. The magical force worked its way across the field and into the minds of a group of ten orcs—their axes ready to tear into the approaching Alliance soldiers. It was the most Elyase had ever had to concentrate. Her consciousness divided and tore into the minds of the orcs. When the spell was complete, she could see what the orcs saw and feel what they felt.

She could feel twenty bulbous hands gripping weapons and shields; the anxiousness of the coming attack; and the feeling at the back of their minds that something just wasn't right.

_"For the Alliance…"_ the ten orcs suddenly grunted in perfect unison. Their fellow members of the Horde had no idea what was going on until the orcs suddenly let their weapons fly them.

The army began to split in two, as most tried to avoid the orcs' flailing swords and axes. None of them were sure of what to do until a troll pushed his way through the crowd.

--

Muu'peh planted his musty dagger into the head of one of the rampaging orcs. Instead of showing a display of pain before death—like so many others he'd seen—the orc seemed to show relief; as if he had been released of something. With that, the body fell to the ground.

"Mind control!" Muu'peh shouted to his comrades. "An Alliance trick. Kill dem before they cause more trou'baal!"

The soldiers near the taken orcs quickly put them out of their misery. They turned around just in time to see the whites in the maddened eyes of the Alliance warriors.

--

Steel finally clashed against steel. The Tyranny's Bane warriors slammed against the front line, throwing many of the bewildered orcs onto their backs. Any who fell were taken out quickly.

Tohjm threw his body against an orc. The sheer force of the impact tossed the Horde soldier back a few paces, before the guildmaster stopped him dead with his massive broadsword. The orc's head spun a few times into the air before falling into the dirt.

The guild worked their way through the masses quickly, as most of them had already scattered thanks to Elyase's skillful distraction. Row by row, they hacked through; hardly taking any returning strikes along the way. Tohjm was paying close attention to their progress. The shaman had to be signaled at just the right time.

A pair of rogues appeared in the middle of the fray. The guildmaster knew them to be the "brothers"; Aric, a night-elf, and Arin, a human. Both had known each other for years. So long, in fact, that they took on similar names after their families were decimated by the Horde. Their attacks against this particular army weren't so much calculated as it was a deadly dance of shadows.

They were swift in their movements. Daggers moved through the exposed points in mail armor, and across bare throats without missing a beat. The brothers stayed near each other in case one of them experienced some trouble, but it was never necessary. No two kills were in close proximity of the other. Aric and Arin worked in the shadow, and surprise was their ammo.

Bodies continued to drop in random patterns as the rogues' went about their work.

Tohjm spotted a Forsaken in the crowd; a grotesque, rotting man that had barely enough skin to form a frown. "Mind and heart!" the warrior taunted as he brought his sword down on the thing's skull.

--

"How far away are we?" Rasmon complained. He looked around at the forest, feeling like he had passed this spot more than once. "Do you even know where we're going?"

"We're not far off from the Meridian Line," replied Kimuriel, growing impatient with his friend's repetitive line of questioning. "After we find it, we'll follow it all the way west to the Fields."

The Forsaken could sense hesitation in the tauren's voice. He repeated his question, sternly. "Do you even know where we're going?"

Kimuriel stopped their jog through the forest to catch his breath. His lack of cat form was another annoyance he was forced to deal with. With the heightened senses he would have had, then finding the battle wouldn't be a problem at all. But, unbeknownst to Rasmon, he found nothing familiar.

"I know where we're going," he lied. "It's just taking us longer since we can't take the trails."

Rasmon tilted his head, suddenly confused. "Did you…" His stare turned to disbelief. "Did you just lie to me?" The tauren's shocked reaction was all he needed to see. "You did! You're getting us lost out here! Cow!"

"No, I haven't—"

"We're running around in circles like complete and udder morons out here in frakking nowhere for what? For your silly tree-hugging quest? A silly tree-hugging quest that just got you lost?!"

"Calm down."

"No!" Rasmon threw his arms into the air. "No! I just died. I don't want to die again. I might not come back this time!"

"With any luck…" Kimuriel said under his breath.

"Real mature."

A twig snapped behind them. They turned casually and found the human ranger standing tensed.

Rasmon's expression turned nasty. "My day just got better." The plants around his feet began to turn to ashes as he drew upon their energies.

"Wait!"

_"Wait!"_

Kimuriel and the human shouted quickly. This surprised the Forsaken enough to stop his spell.

Davion looked to the tauren. _"Tell him I'm sorry for what I did!"_

"I can understand you fine, fleshbag," Rasmon snapped back. "How many times have you apologized to something you've already killed?"

_"Very well, then."_ The ranger put his hands up. _"I didn't want to do what I did, but let's face it, you gave me little recourse."_

"I'll give you recourse…" The warlock continued his spell.

"Stop this, Rasmon!" Kimuriel bellowed, gripping his friend by his skinless shoulder. "Stay your pride! We need his help!"

The spell stopped again. "Help?! For what?!" Rasmon didn't have to think long. The human was a ranger, after all. "I'll never follow any member of the Alliance. I don't care if he has the map of the Foothills tattooed on his arms, I won't follow him." He crossed his arms in finality.

Kimuriel knew he had him trapped. "He's not of the Alliance." He winked at Davion, needing him to play along.

"What do you mean? He looks as human as any others I've killed."

"Look at his eyes and ears."

Rasmon begrudgingly stared at the ranger's eyes. He could see the green glow—it was more subtle than most blood elves, but was still prominent. He moved in closer, and Davion pushed his hair away to reveal the pointed ears.

"Wha?" The Forsaken was aghast. "What are you, a half-breed?"

Davion nodded.

Rasmon looked back to his friend, who had a look of accomplishment across his maw. "No fair," he whined.

Not another word was said. Davion calmly moved to the head of the group and began to lead them to the battlefield.

--

"Tyranny's Bane?" Trezner scoffed. "You brought them here?"

Ravenholdt's laugh was terribly evil. "Perfect! Are you beginning to see?!" He began to wander around his chambers, head held high. "Nothing can stop this now! Two entire nations will be toppling in on each other in a seamless bout of vengeance. I don't even know what I'm telling you all of this for, it was your plan to begin with."

"This isn't_ my_ plan!" The rogue was fuming. "Back when I believed in your little guild, I did everything to protect it. Getting rid of Southshore and Tarren Mill…I was ready to do that. But time has proven you insane, and I have no wanting to have any part of this!"

"Insane, am I?" Ravenholdt grinned. "And what will you do about it, Lycan? Will you kill me? Just as you've killed so many others? Sure, the dragon's venom protects me against time, but it won't shield me from your daggers. My life is yours if you want it."

Trezner tapped at his daggers, but made no attempt to grab them. "Death wouldn't be proper punishment for you, _master_."

"Oh? Then pray tell what is."

"Watching your 'perfect' plan fall apart before your eyes." The elf smiled finally. "_That_ would be punishment enough."

Lord Ravenholdt flinched, but shrugged as if the words meant nothing. "Be on your way then. Do what you will, but I assure you that you'll be just a feather against a raging giant."

Trezner turned for the door, and found another man blocking his path. The man wore a mark across his shoulder pad; it was the mark of the Grand Master. The elf turned back to Ravenholdt. "Is this who replaced me?"

The old man didn't reply.

"You the Lycan?" asked the Grand Master.

"Not anymore, friend." Trezner brushed passed him.

"I'm not your friend! The name's Fahrad!" The man followed the blood elf out onto the fields, shouting obscenities the entire time.

"And I didn't just 'replace' you, Lycan!" Fahrad continued. He began to draw the attention of all of the workers and rogues wandering about. "I surpassed you! In every way imaginable, I surpassed you! You were nothing to this League, just as you're nothing to us now! When you're gone, nothing will be different!"

Trezner stopped walking away. Slowly, he turned towards the raving Grand Master. Everyone who had been watching the altercation braced for a possible conflict between two of the finest fighters they had ever known.

Instead of sparking the fight that Fahrad so desperately wanted, the blood elf simply smiled. "As least one thing will be different after I'm gone."

Fahrad snickered. "What's that?"

"You won't be here either." Trezner turned and continued walking.

"What's that supposed to mean!" The Grand Master kept shouting. "You could never have touched me! Come back here!"

Simone stepped in to calm the enraged man. She had seen what not even Fahrad had. "You need to settle down and get in the house!"

The Grand Master pushed the night elf aside. "Stay out of this, wench." He began to march off to catch up to Trezner…when he felt it. A sharp pain shot up his spine and through his heart. He fell to his knees, clenching his chest.

"…Nothing…" Fahrad groaned before falling dead to the dirt.

The people all around gasped.

Simone reached over into her former Grand Master's back and pulled out a small knife; the green glint of poison still clinging to it. The night elf couldn't help but laugh. It was as if she had her old friend, the Lycan, truly back among them after all this time.

"Good luck, Trezner Shadowlit," she called after the black figure in the distance as it disappeared over the cliff.


	10. The Blurring of Ways

* * *

"World of Warcraft: The Wrath of Tarren Mill"

Chapter Nine – The Blurring of Ways

* * *

The storm clouds above the skirmish at the Hillsbrad Fields finally lit up. Thunder cracked through the air, but it was unable to completely drown out the clashing of weapons below.

"Now!" Tohjm bellowed into the air. "Now! Do it now!"

The draenei shaman nodded in understanding before chanting long, drawn out words into the sky.

The Fields fell silent rather quickly.

--

Any warriors that weren't on the front lines stopped to stare at the storm clouds. Some of them began stealthily moving back to the rear of the formation.

Muu'peh began striking any soldiers that had gone motionless across their helms with the hilt of his dagger. "Keep yar wits about ya! An' don't any of ya even think about running."

As if to disobey, one of taurens threw down his axe and began sprinting away from the battle.

"No!" the troll shouted. "You dam fool!"

A flash of light swept across the Fields, followed by an ear-bruising explosion that tore through the sky. When the quiet returned, the Horde army turned to find that the fleeing tauren had become nothing more than a scorched skeleton—burned into a running pose like a statue.

"Spread out!" Muu'peh roared. "Tis a shaman! Spread out, ya scum!"

The army did their best to put some distance between each other, but the lightning struck again, and again, and again. Now it was coming every other second, burning away flesh and bone from any unfortunate soldier standing in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Between the lethal storm and the ever-approaching soldiers of the Alliance, any hope for victory died along with most of the Horde warriors.

The retreat began and it was no longer one at a time. Half of the army broke off—orc, tauren, troll, forsaken, and elf scattered into the Hillsbrad Fields.

"Cowards!" Muu'peh screamed at the retreating soldiers. "We will fall because of ya! Cowards!" In defiance, the troll swept up his dagger and charged headlong into the Alliance army. When he found he was the last Horde on the lines, tears of rage poured out of his eyes.

"For the Horde!" he roared as arrows flew and struck him everywhere on his body. Still he ran, getting closer to the inner ranks than anyone else had. With blood pouring out of him, and swords grazing his flesh in every direction, he leapt into the air—miraculously dodging several axes and scimitars and planted his dagger in the neck of a human rogue.

With the kill still fresh on his hands, Muu'peh threw his arms into the air, smiling and laughing fiendishly, before a sea of swords ripped him apart.

--

"NO!" the night elf cried, holding the dying rogue in his arms. "Arin, stay with me, brother. Please don't leave me!"

Aric and Arin, the twins, the master rogues of Tyranny's Bane were being separated before the guilds eyes. Aric pulled the man close and did his best to keep pressure on the wound on his brother's neck.

"You can't leave me alone here, Arin. Please don't leave me alone here," Aric begged. "We still have so much to do in Azeroth. Your job's not done here."

Arin smiled weakly, and used the last of his strength to clap his hand down on his brother's shoulder. A tear rolled down his cheek, and the life finally faded from his eyes.

"No, no, no, no, please," the elf's voice trailed off. His head suddenly whipped up to his guildmates. "We have to bring him back. Someone bring him back!"

Tohjm solemnly shook his head. "The mana to do that was gone in the opening attack. We'll have to get him to Menethil Harbor and find a paladin who can redeem him."

"There's not going to be a pally in the Wetlands!"

The warrior shrugged. "It's the only chance he's got. Take him back to the ship, get him cleaned up, and await our return."

As the rogue carefully carried his friend away, Tohjm's gaze suddenly went fierce. The warrior stormed to the front line and, with arms alone, knocked five men onto their backs. They looked back, bewildered.

"You had plenty of time to kill that troll," Tohjm bellowed. "Plenty of time! Explain yourselves!"

One of the men struggled with an answer before stuttering, "I—I thought we were just going to play with him, sir. So…I held back."

"Your thinking just got one of our finest killed! And let me tell you, for that lapse in judgment, I'd gladly trade your soul for his."

"But, sir—"

The warrior shut him up with a gaze. "When we return to Southshore, you're out of the guild. Such vanity won't be tolerated in my ranks."

The man on the ground looked affright, as if he was naked now. Tohjm left him there to contemplate his future without the guild and returned to the center of the group.

"There's still work to be done, my friends," he said. "Many of the beasts are still running from us. I think it's only necessary that we give them good reason to keep fleeing."

--

Davion took the lead, slowly making his way into the clearing at the edge of the forest. An arrow was nocked on his bow, ready to find the heart of any Alliance or Horde who threatened them. He looked up and found that the storm clouds were dissipating, revealing the clear blue sky behind it, and allowing rays of sunlight to illuminate the gore upon the deserted battlefield.

"No…" Davion breathed. He quickly put away his weapon and strayed out across the Hillsbrad Fields with Kimuriel and Rasmon following close behind.

The field was littered with smoldering craters—some empty, some filled with the remains of various kinds. All of them belonging to the Horde.

_"We were too late,"_ Kimuriel said. _"This can't be…"_

_"Looks like we'll get to have our war after all!"_ Rasmon shouted, clapping the tauren on his back. _"It was inevitable, I suppose. Shame our side had to be the first to go for it to happen, though. Regrettable in its own right, but I can live with it…as much as a forsaken can."_

_ "Can you shut that skull of yours for one second to let me think!"_ the druid snapped. _"There has to be a way to stop this."_

"There might be…" Davion said as he investigated the remains on the field. "It looks as if most of the Horde army retreated back into the forest." His finger trailed the imprints out into the treeline. "We might still have a chance."

_"Our side retreated?!"_ Rasmon stood in disbelief. _"Let them die then! A more shameful display I've never seen. At least that troll managed to go out with a little dignity."_ His foot stuck out and poked at Muu'peh's lifeless and shredded corpse.

Kimuriel ignored the undead. _"Then it's possible we can catch up with the group and show them Rasmon isn't dead. Then they'll see that they—"_

"Fought for nothing?" Davion interrupted. "After all of this," he motioned to the carnage around them, "I'm not so sure Rasmon being alive is going to change many minds…No offense." The forsaken shrugged. "The Horde suffered a great loss today. I'm not sure it'll be easy for them to forget that."

_"Well, we have to do something,"_ said Kimuriel. _"We can't sit and do nothing. If there's even a shadow of a path before us, we have to walk it."_

_"Very poetic,"_ Rasmon groaned. _"Look, it appears there's nothing left to be done. If we can't stop the Horde from dying and the Alliance from winning, then I say we either join our brethren in their last march or we head back to Tarren Mill and wait for our armies to arrive. Pick out a good spot and watch the world burn again."_

The tauren wouldn't hear any of it. His paws were clenched and she shook his head as if to deny the unshakeable fate that marched upon them. _"There has to be something we can do."_

_"There is…"_ A voice rose up from behind the group.

Davion was already turned around with his bow readied to fire.

_"Oh, put that away,"_ the blood elf said. _"I could snatch that arrow out of the air and plant it in your skull before you nocked another."_

"I'd be willing to put that to the test," Davion threatened.

Kimuriel motioned for the ranger to lower his weapon. _"It's alright, Davion. This is a friend."_

Davion hesitated, but he finally submitted. Though, his eyes never left the black-cloaked elf.

_"Davion Nalick, this is Trezner Shadowlit,"_ Kimuriel said, and then turned to the elf. _"Trezner, Davion Nalick. He's the ranger that's been helping us."_

Trezner's arms relaxed at his sides. _"I know the past few days haven't been kind to you, Kimuriel, but there's hardly any sense in trusting a human…Even a half-human."_

The ranger was genuinely surprised at the elf's keen perception.

_"I wouldn't trust him either, Shadowlit,"_ Rasmon huffed. _"Damn human killed me earlier."_

The elf turned to Davion. _"You killed Rasmon?"_ he asked sternly, to which the ranger nodded. _"Oh, welcome to the group, then."_ Trezner marched over and happily shook Davion's hand. _"Killing this bugger might as well be initiation. Everyone gets around to doing it eventually. "_

The Forsaken clicked his teeth. _"Haha, whatever. Let's just move this along, if you don't mind. What are you doing here, elf?"_

Trezner's expression suddenly faded into sadness. _"I've come to finish this, Rasmon. I have a plan to stop this war, but it's going to take all four of us. All of you must be willing to commit to it, because there will be no going back. We'll never be able to set foot in the Hillsbrad Foothills ever again after this day. But if we manage to pull this off, then no more innocents will die, and even we might be able to walk away with our lives."_

The tauren scratched his head, confused. _"What's this all about, Trezner?"_

The rogue continued. _"My time in the devil's shadow has come back to haunt me. All of this that you see before you stems from my actions. But I'm not going to let it continue any further."_

He knew that Kimuriel and Rasmon would go along with his plan, but this ranger was a variable. He approached the human and made sure their eyes locked. _"We're going to need your skills for this, but you'll be forced to leave as well. You're not one of the Horde, but you might as well be if you march with us. I need you to say it."_

Davion shrugged. "Say what?"

The elf was unflinching. _"That you're one of us."_

The ranger knew what the rogue was saying. He was being offered a pact, and if it was accepted, then the paths of he, the druid, the warlock, and the rogue would become one for quite some time. There would be no going back. Little did the elf know, there wasn't much for him to go back to.

_"Say it, ranger,"_ Trezner beckoned once more.

Davion finally nodded and held out his hand to seal the pact. The two of them shook on it. _"I'm one of you,"_ the ranger said.


	11. Siege Perilous

* * *

"World of Warcraft: The Wrath of Tarren Mill"

Chapter Ten – Siege Perilous

* * *

The remainder of the Horde army huddled in a small grove of pine at the base of the Alterac Mountains. They kept their voices low and their eyes to the ground in shame. None of them spoke for the longest time, but when it became evident that they were playing with borrowed time, a tauren near the front of the group stood up.

"We cannot stay here," he said. "We no longer have the power to fend off the Alliance."

An orc raised his axe into the air. "If there's nothing more we can do, then dying to the last man sounds like a good a plan as any! Let us burn out in gore and glory!" The rest of the orcs, and a few Forsaken, nodded or harrumphed in agreement.

"No!" The tauren cut off their celebration. "To die now is meaningless. We need to send a word of warning to Tarren Mill and get Lordaeron involved. We make sure the Alliance thinks twice before letting rogue guilds wander like this. We take them to war."

The orcs didn't have to think very long about this. "We take them to war!" Another wave of restrained cheers rose up. "How are they going to think twice with our blades planted in their skulls!"

"Right then," the tauren said, trying to move things along. "We need to start sending messengers. One at a time and one in each direction to avoid attracting too much attention. Make sure our fastest runners are sent towards our outpost at the Sepulcher."

"On foot, that walk could take days," a troll protested. "And Silverpine Forest isn't very forgiving this time of the year."

"It's all we can do," the tauren sighed. "Which of you will be our first two runners?"

--

"Why is this taking so long?" Tohjm hadn't eased his weapon since they entered the forest. He thought that with some of the best trackers of the Eastern Kingdom at his disposal, catching the Horde beasts would be no trouble at all.

"This is their forest, sir," a night elf replied. "I don't want us walking into a trap. Even with overwhelming force, some battles have been decided by the simplest elements."

"No need to inform me, my friend, I know these _elements_ very well. Forgive my impatience."

The night elf ranger waved away the apology and realigned their heading through the forest. The footprints in the dirt and grass were growing closer together. He knew their enemy was not far off.

--

The first to emerge onto the mountain path was a blood elf. He pulled himself up from the rugged slope and took a minute to rest his limbs from the difficult climb. Then he was sprinting down the rocky road with little regard for his surroundings.

Long ago, the trail had been used by the Horde during the Alterac Valley skirmishes with the Alliance. If it had been any wider to allow for siege weapons, the battle might have ended months sooner.

Like before, the road was being used as the Horde's saving grace, as it was the quickest way back to Tarren Mill without drawing Alliance attention below. At the rate he was moving along, the blood elf figured that he'd be back to town by the end of the day. He hoped that would give his fellow denizens enough time to pack up and make for the quickest route to the Undercity of Lordaeron.

It wouldn't be easy, but anything was better than the potential bloodbath that sitting around could mean.

A rock tumbled off the rock wall to his left and rolled into his path. The elf slid to a stop, sensing danger, and drew his scimitar. His elven eyes scanned the grayed mountain face up into the mist, and then looked down to his right to inspect the steep drop towards the forest below. He saw nothing. Heard nothing.

Hesitantly, he sheathed his weapon. As soon as he felt it click back into place, a blade moved across his neck.

"You never were very observant." Trezner sighed and led his fellow blood elf towards the cliff's edge. "You always look with your eyes. You let all those other fine senses go to waste and now look where you are."

The restrained elf was caught midway between the fury of betrayal and the fright of nearly hanging over a very nasty cliff. "You going to kill me, Shadowlit? You going to kill your own kind?"

"Let's get one thing straight," Trezner snapped, "you are not my kind. You are a war-hungry soldier, just like the rest of the pack you left down in the valley. The only reason I haven't killed you indiscriminately is because you were one of the few of Tarren Mill who displayed some semblance of goodwill towards me. For that, and for that alone, you are still breathing."

"What do you want from me?" the blood elf grunted as he struggled under the rogue's grip.

"I want you to leave. Walk away from Hillsbrad and find someplace else to settle."

"This has been my home since the war. I'll not leave them now. Not when so much is riding on my word."

Trezner inched closer to the edge of the cliff so that his captive's legs hung free over the drop. "I'm going to say this slowly, but I'll only say it once so try not to get distracted."

The elf stopped struggling.

"You are going to take the trail to the north and follow it to the Arathi Highlands. You will stop at Hammerfall for supplies, and then you will find someplace else to settle down. Return to Silvermoon, set sail from Stranglethorn, I don't care what you do. I don't want you near this place by day's end."

The rogue's victim didn't dare question him now.

"You will leave and not come back. If you return to Tarren Mill and warn them of the Alliance attack, I will find you, I will kill you. Then, I will return to Tarren Mill and kill them, too. And you know I can."

"Why?" the blood elf captive finally spat. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because I would kill a handful to save thousands more. If Tarren Mill learns of what took place today, word will reach the capital cities. War will spread faster than I can stop it, and that is not acceptable. It's much better this way."

"What do you mean?"

Trezner took the curiosity as an agreement. He pulled the hanging elf back onto the ledge and turned him around to stare him in the eyes. "It's better to have dead men carry the blame."

--

Kimuriel and Rasmon sat at the border of the Hillsbrad Foothills near the mouth of the pass that led into the Silverpine Forest. Under the shade of a decades-old guard tower, they waited quietly, hardly looking at each other as the hours ticked by.

The first hint of the Silverpine Forest was at least a half-day's walk down the trail, but they could still feel the thick coldness of the place being carried to them by the wind. It was a dark and unforgiving part of the Eastern Kingdoms that very few found it in their interest to tarry through. The mindless undead wander endlessly beyond the forest's edge, and creatures of endless horror stories call the place their home.

But atop a hill, just north of the dreaded Shadowfang Keep, lies the Horde outpost known as the Silverpine Sepulcher. An ancient crypt that has since been reformed into a reluctant base of operations. With so much evil in the surrounding lands, the Sepulcher is the only safe haven on the long road to the Undercity of Lordaeron.

It was the one place that Trezner Shadowlit had seemed convinced the Horde army would attempt to reach with their word of warning.

The elf had ordered Davion to patrol the trails leading out of the Foothills and around the Dalaran Crater as a precaution. He knew that if even one member of the Horde army managed to get around their blockade, then war would be inevitable.

"How are you going to do it?" Rasmon asked suddenly.

The tauren looked over, confused. "What do you mean?"

"How are you going to…you know?" The Forsaken drew a finger across his rotted out throat and made a gurgling noise. "How are you going to take the runner out?"

"Rasmon!" Kimuriel scolded his friend.

"What? It has to be done? How are you going to kill them without any weapons?"

"I'd rather not think about it. Trezner said that we could let them live if they agree to join our cause."

Rasmon snickered. "I'm gonna go out on a limb and say that outcome is delightfully unlikely. Seriously, how are you gonna do it? Is it going to be a quick affair, or are you going to draw it out? Personally, I thought I'd mix it up with every runner."

The tauren's loud snort put an end to the conversation, and silence resumed its presence.

Rasmon defiantly pointed his finger out towards the road like a gun and muttered, "Pew, pew…"

The attack was quick enough to frighten the Forasken. In one motion, his arm was ripped from his shoulder, whipped across the back of his head, and forcibly pushed back into its socket. He turned to find Kimuriel back in his sitting position with a small grin across his maw.

The undead man looked to his arm, moved it around slowly, and looked back to his friend in disbelief. "I can't believe you've done this."

"Will you please be quiet now?" Kimuriel asked sincerely.

Rasmon continued to move his arm around, shocked. "I can't believe…Why would you do that?"

It was then that they heard footfalls on the path in front of them. The pair slowly eased out from behind the crumbling building and tried to identify who it was.

The hefty tauren and the Forsaken were immediately spotted.

"Kimuriel? That you?" the orc asked into the shadows.

With a deep sigh to breathe away the anxiety, Kimuriel stood from his hiding spot with Rasmon in tow. "Yes, it's me."

The orc shrugged his shoulders. "Where've you been? You have to come with me."

"We can't—" Kimuriel choked on his words. "We can't go, Tr'ack."

"We have to," the orc, Tr'ack explained. "The Alliance have gone to far! It's time for us to bring the full force of the Horde's armies down upon them for this travesty! Come! It'll hardly be a two day's walk with me leading you."

"No," the tauren replied with a finality that stunned the orc. "We've been deceived, my friend. The Alliance do not want war, they were tricked into coming here."

Tr'ack laughed loudly. "That's nonsense, Kimuriel! Those Alliance killed Gerard and Rasmon…" He looked over and saw Rasmon waving at him. "Huh. He's lucky to have a friend like you who can bring him back as many times as he dies. Either way, it was still the Alliance's doing. If we don't put them in their place now, they're likely to take their campaign to Tarren Mill. Maybe even further. Now quit stalling and come on!"

"Stop this and listen to me, Tr'ack!" Kimuriel bellowed. "It was Ravenholdt! It was those rogues from Ravenholdt the entire time. They killed Gerard and the human at Southshore! They want to spark a war in Azeroth, and they knew Hillsbrad would be the easiest place to do just that. You have to believe me."

The orc shrugged again. "Maybe I'd believe you if I didn't just watch a great many of my comrades get killed out on the Fields. Nothing can take that back, tauren. It's all the proof I need. If you don't want to go, fine, I'm still leaving. But maybe you should take the time and remind yourself where your loyalties lie—"

A deep darkness formed at the orc's back. It spread through space until it hung like a black storm cloud. Then, within the span of a breath, Trezner stepped from the shadow and dropped both of his twin daggers into the orc's neck. Tr'ack's body shook in a deathspasm and his weapon dropped from his grip.

Then, Trezner ripped his blades back from his victim and threw a swift kick into the orc's back, sending the quick cracking sound of a broken spine echoing through the air.

Tr'ack crumbled on the ground, lifeless, with the look of surprise spread across his face.

Rasmon nodded in appeasement. "Well done."

The tauren spoke up in protest. "We could have convinced him, Trezner! Why would you—"

"We don't have the time to play negotiator all day," Trezner cut him off. "You ask them the simple question, 'Do you want to live?' and you move on. If you're not going to do that, then wave as they pass by and pick out a good spot to watch the world burn."

The blood elf was met with silence.

"I'll take that as an indication that you won't screw this up again. That half-breed ranger's already taken down two runners. He's quite the shot, I'll give him that."

The Forsaken sighed. "Hear that? The human has two up on us."

"Indeed," Trezner replied. He reached to his back and produced a bow and a quiver of arrow and tossed them on the ground at Kimuriel's hooves. "There you go, Bloodguard. Maybe a familiar sight will loosen that old trigger finger you used to have."

Kimuriel sneered at the rogue intensely. The blood elf grinned sympathetically before disappearing back into his own shadow.

Not since the war had Kimuriel even thought about touching a weapon again. But now, it seemed he had no choice. He slowly bent over and gripped the bow in his paws. It seemed as if every kill he had ever made during the war was flashing in front of his eyes now, but he did his best to shut it out.

"Do you still remember how to use that thing?" Rasmon asked honestly.

Kimuriel flawlessly nocked the arrow to the bow and pulled the weapon taut. His eyes ran down the shaft of the arrow and out into the distance where the road merged with the horizon. He waited in this position for several minutes. Rasmon didn't dare speak.

The tauren continued to wait until he saw it. There was motion out there on the horizon. Another runner. He recognize the slender build of a troll anywhere.

Part of him wanted to scream at the troll to run. To save the thing from himself. But for as much as his conscience screamed at him not to go through with it, Kimuriel knew what he had to do.

He released the arrow.

The tauren counted down under his breath.

_Three._

_Two._

_One._

His fingers snapped together to end the ritual that he had long sense tried to forget—and the figure on the horizon's edge collapsed onto the road.


	12. You Can Never Go Home

* * *

"World of Warcraft: The Wrath of Tarren Mill"

Chapter Eleven – You Can Never Go Home

* * *

Davion couldn't watch the blood elf die without being reminded of the night his parents were murdered. It was a painful sight—watching as the look of shock on her face gave way to cosmic indifference. Then to see the bright, green glow in her eyes slowly fade away; taking every inch of what that woman was, and could have been, away to someplace he couldn't follow.

It was painful, but he watched every second of it. This was his deed. To turn from it would be denying what had been done this day. To make-believe that he hadn't just murdered yet another innocent soul, and that everything would be fine as long as he kept his eyes away.

Nothing could hide what he had done—what he still had to do.

Carefully, he lifted the elf's body up into his arms and carried her up the hill that overlooked the Dalaran Crater. Once there, he respectfully placed her beside the other two Horde soldiers; an orc and a Forsaken. Davion wished that it didn't have to come to this. He wished a lot of things didn't happen the way they did.

Above all, he tried to understand _why_ all of this was happening. Why so many had to die because some rogue elder atop a mountain decided this was the way things should be. It was no service to Davion's conscience that he'd be saving thousands, if not millions, of lives by cutting down a few Horde soldiers. A kill was still a kill, and he'd have to live with their deaths for as long as he cared to breathe.

"Another one bites the dust?" Trezner suddenly appeared behind the ranger. His eyes locked onto the bodies.

Davion sighed. "Don't think I'd ever put it quite like that."

"You should be relieved."

"It doesn't help," the ranger snapped. "I still have to watch them die by my hands."

"That's not what I meant." The blood elf walked over to the corpses and leaned over the lady elf. He pushed a few strands of golden hair out of her face. "You should be relieved you still have your humanity. I know you think you're some kind of monster for this, but you're not."

"How do you figure?" Davion scoffed.

The rogue shrugged and stood back up. "How we treat our dead separates us from the monsters we might become one day. You've been rather incorruptible, as of yet. A rarity for a half-breed like yourself."

"How many could you possibly have met?"

"You'd be surprised," Trezner replied, matter-of-factly. "When they're not separated by war or patriotism, the humans and the sin'dorei are a complement to each other. Humans see the blood elves' gift of immortality erotic, while the sin'dorei see the fragility of mankind romantic. It might seem like an odd pairing, but if you ever stumble upon such a couple, you'll find a portrait of happiness that's just…palpable."

He nodded to the ranger. "Perhaps that's why the ones who killed your parents did what they did. Such bliss in a war-torn world like this angers those who will never experience it themselves."

Davion folded his arms across his chest. "Are you saying they were justified in what they did to my family?"

The rogue shook his head. "I'm saying this world is unjust."

"Doesn't that make you a bit of a hypocrite, rogue?"

Trezner playfully shrugged. "I never said I was the exception." He motioned for the ranger to follow. "Now, come with me. Your job is done here." He breathed deep of the clean mountain air. "It's time for the final act."

--

"Any sign of them?" Tohjm asked the night elf ranger once they came to a stop. Even he could tell that the ground surrounding them had been disturbed fairly recently. "Are they still on the move?"

The ranger's hands pointed towards opposite directions of the grove in which they stood. "They split off into two groups. One trail leads off towards Western Hillsbrad and the other leads back in the direction of the Horde village. They're probably going to warn one of the other towns of what happened here."

The guildmaster of Tyranny's Bane grimaced and gripped the hilt of his broadsword tight. "We can't let them escape. If they reach Lordaeron or Tarren Mill, we're finished."

"Finished, sir?" the night elf asked.

"Yes, finished! Don't you understand?!" Tohjm roared. "We knew the risks before we came here. Hillsbrad is unstable. It was worth the risk to beat the Horde back behind their borders, but we let too many of them go. We were careless. If these beasts aren't destroyed before they reach their respective towns, I fear a conflict could be born of this."

A dwarven slayer stepped out of the group. "We've killed countless monsters like these. Some of them get away. It's just the way of things. What makes this any different?"

"We've never challenged a Horde settlement only three day away from a capital city," the guildmaster explained. "They won't think twice about sending an army down here to occupy the foothills. And I don't think it would be completely out of character for your fellow dwarves at Ironforge to intervene in Southshore's plight."

The dwarf nodded gravely. "Aye, it would be right difficult to keep the brothers' blades clean of Horde blood, I can tell ye that."

"Right." Tohjm nodded to the dwarf. "This is why it will be up to all of us to stop those beasts before they reach either city. Call up your mounts and ride to all points of exit out of the foothills."

_"Excuse me,"_ a voice called out. It was unfamiliar to the lot of soldiers, so weapons were immediately drawn in the direction of the intruder. They turned to find a lone blood elf in garbs of black leather and cloth perched upon a low-hanging tree branch.

_"Looking for the Horde army won't be necessary, fellows,"_ the elf continued. _"Your role in the Hillsbrad Foothills has been fulfilled. If you all would kindly about-face and leave, that would be great."_

Destroy the Horde. That was the first and last law of the guild charter, and no one hesitated to follow through. A human spearman immediately flung his weapon in the direction of the elf, but before it impacted, their intruder disappeared into a cloud of darkness.

Even Tohjm couldn't help but look confused at the spectacle.

_"You see, this is exactly what I had anticipated all those long years ago."_ The blood elf reappeared yet again in a different tree. _"I had spent months perfecting my plan to destroy this place. It was so simple in its execution: Just piss off one side to the breaking point and the foothills burn. Guilds like this merry group make things too easy."_

"What do you speak of, monster?" the guildleader bellowed. "You mock us with each living breath you take, so if you have words, be out with them."

_"That's the difficult part, isn't it? If I do have words, would you listen?"_

"We haven't killed you yet."

_"Nor have I. We're on an even plane."_

The guildmaster laughed at this. "I'd like to see you try such a thing with my men not one pace away."

_"Oh?"_ The blood elf's mouth flipped up into a smile. _"Are you getting an itch on the side of your neck just there? A little tingle, perhaps?"_

Tohjm's expression went to stone. He could feel the pain from a fresh cut begin to intensify on his neck, though he didn't dare acknowledge it. "Speak your piece, elf."

_"Very well. As I said before, your part in this dance is over. It's time to let someone else lead. The Horde army is dead. No word will pass through to Lordaeron or Tarren Mill."_

The guildmaster didn't blink. "Of course, you can understand that I'm not very inclined to believe you."

_"Indeed."_ The elf's finger rose up towards the sky. _"Seeing is believing."_

The eyes of Tyranny's Bane reluctantly rose up to the tree canopy above them. The group shuddered at the shock of the image of carnage strewn above them. Nearly fifteen bodies were lashed up amongst the limbs and leaves. Tauren, Forsaken, orcs, trolls, and blood elves. None were excluded.

"By the maker…" Tohjm awed.

The blood elf raised his hand. _"That'd be my doing. Trezner Shadowlit, at your service."_

The guildmaster was at a loss for words. "How could you possibly do this to your own kind? Even the Horde have more decency than this."

Trezner rubbed his temples in frustration. _"I keep getting asked this question, and it's starting to annoy me that I have to repeat myself. If someone decides to bring war down upon the land that I love, then they are not my kind. My blades do not discriminate, human. I'd just as easily cut your collective throats if I thought you were still any sort of threat to the foothills."_

Tohjm stood in thought for the longest time. Seeing such a cataclysm so narrowly avoided was a relief in itself, but the feeling was significantly hollow when he looked over to their savior. The elf still sat upon his perch, grinning.

"So you want us to leave now? Is that the way of it?" the guildmaster asked.

_"I'd also tell you to let up on your crusade, but that probably won't happen."_

"Your work here has spared you, but there are others in Azeroth that won't be as lucky."

_"Suit yourself. But know this, your loved ones are indeed gone and killing won't bring them back. Death does not beget life, it only makes more ghosts."_ Trezner bowed courteously. _"Good day to you all."_ And with that, the elf disappeared back into the shadows.

Tyranny's Bane stood in the grove unbelieving. The air was quiet around them, even as the stink of death lay thick. Their work in the land was indeed finished, though under circumstances they still couldn't comprehend.

Tohjm finally broke the silence. "Come, brothers and sisters," he said patiently. "Our next stop awaits…"

--

Kimuriel, Rasmon and Davion stood on the faded trail that the denizens of Hillsbrad dubbed the Meridian Line. They straddled it solemnly, knowing that it wouldn't belong to them much longer.

"Come on," Rasmon beckoned. "You're not just gonna leave me hanging are you?"

"I don't see how it's any of your business," Davion replied. "It won't change anything."

"It'll make me feel better," the undead man clarified. "Come on. I'll tell you how many we killed."

"No," the ranger hissed. "That secret is for the dead to keep."

"I'm dead!" Rasmon shouted. "I deserve to know if we beat you!"

Kimuriel stomped the ground. "Quiet, Rasmon."

"Hey, don't throw me under the wagon, cow! This half-breed hasn't been in our group a day and he's already keeping secrets!"

"It's his secret to keep," the tauren argued. "Let this be the end of it."

Rasmon crossed his arms in a juvenile fashion and let his decayed jaw hang loose while he pouted. A moment later, his sights were locked onto Davion again. "This isn't the end of it. Mark my words. The road's long enough to warrant some good competition. Mark my words, _halfling_."

Kimuriel and Davion sighed in unison.

"Are we ready?" Trezner's voice popped up behind the group.

"Must you always make an entrance?" the tauren asked.

"It's my thing. You'd better start getting used to it if we're going to travel together."

The ranger held his hands out. "Wait a minute. Where do we even go from here? What are we going to do?"

The companions looked at each other, and then turned their attention to the world surrounding them. They were to leave the land they had been endeared to behind them. All of them could feel the anxiety that came with being set free of their homes. They were being forced out a door, though it was up to them to choose which they'd walk through.

Though, no path seemed particularly favorable.

"I choose that way," Rasmon cut in, pointing off towards the east.

Kimuriel shirked his shoulders. "Why that way?"

"Because it'll get us walking. Standing around like this is silly."

The four of them nodded in agreement, and set off down the Meridian Line, where the approaching darkness was already beginning to rise up from the eastern horizon.

Davion could feel a faint feeling of regret for leaving Southshore behind. All his life, he had tried to fit into the town's natural order, but he knew that it would never completely steal away that feeling of loneliness that he had felt every day since his parents' death.

Though, as he walked side-by-side with this ragtag group—the tauren druid, the undead warlock, and the blood elf rogue—he felt suspiciously complete. As if he was right where he needed to be, and that his life had been leading up to this journey before him.

The companions were only a few paces into their new lives, and Davion already felt more at home than he ever did.

With heads held high, and regret discarded on the trail behind them, the four friends strode out into the world of Azeroth together.

--

Lord Ravenholdt looked over his mountaintop colony. In the past, the sight of his dreams in motion would always give him pause whenever he felt particularly perturbed. Nothing could rival the sight of his rogues and villagers moving about to their duties completely autonomously. It had been a very long time since he had to give a direct order—to intervene in the ways of things.

But now, he had no other choice.

The new Grand Master, Khalt Frostwind, stood in wait for his master's orders. The night elf's cowl was pulled low over his head, but his long, stark white hair drifted down around his chest as if to defy the very laws of stealth he now represented. But he was not disrespectful. He had followed the code of the Ravenholdt Colony to great extremes since his induction.

Most of the Colony believed that Khalt's promotion was premature. Though, no one argued that it wouldn't take much character at all to fill the shoes that Fahrad left behind after Trezner Shadowlit's "visit."

"There was a time when the kind of anger I feel now would often mean that someone's death," Lord Ravenholdt explained as he continued to peer out his window. "Someone always had to pay for my emotions. Someone always had to die to put me at peace."

The old man sighed. "I'd like to think that I've grown beyond those ways. But I also believe that those memories cling to me for a reason. My word is law in this world. My children here are the hands by which I grip Azeroth by the throat…And today, I watched my hold slip. My word counted for nothing. It was as an echo, and there's nothing that angers me more than uselessness."

Ravenholdt turned to his new Grand Master. "The man you will hunt is someone that I was willing to die for. He was the only one who could share in my beliefs so intensely. We were brothers in arms, and the lands burned by our favor. But he has betrayed our ways. Interfered with our plans of betterment…and he succeeded."

He placed his hands on the night elf's shoulders and, looking deeply into his eyes, he spoke softly. "You know what you have to do, Frostwind," Ravenholdt said. "For the good of our cause. For the dignity stolen from us. Promise me, your lord, that you will follow through with this mission."

Khalt bowed lowly and gripped the blackened hilt of his darkstrider katana. "By your command, my master. I swear by my life—the Lycan will die."


	13. Epilogue: Undisturbed

* * *

"World of Warcraft: The Wrath of Tarren Mill"

Epilogue – Undisturbed

* * *

Following the pattern that has always been, the waters of Lake Abassi spill out into the Greenrush River—where it weaves its way through the blackened and scarred lands left over after Arthas Menethil's march to the Sunwell. Flowing past the dried up trees and the mounds of dark ash, the waters unsympathetically continue down into an ancient channel.

When it reemerges into daylight, it cuts its way through the thickened yellow fog so prominent in the Western Plaguelands. On either side of the river, farms that had once been alive and bountiful were all but decayed away into clouds of dust and debris. The roads which saw the traffic of all kinds in their prime, from wagons to curious travelers, now only served to attract the living dead to a faint memory they once had.

Eventually, the waters mingle with the corpse-ridden muck of Darrowmere Lake, but just as quickly escape to safety into the Throndoril River. For miles more, it runs along the border of the Hinterlands, catching the pine mountain winds in its ripples. But the air goes frigid and a light snowfall begins—signaling the entrance to the Alterac Mountains.

Almost knowingly, the river turns south. Away from the ruins of Alterac City, where the stones that made up a proud kingdom have begun to disappear beneath the thick snowfall. Humans had once lived with dignity in these mountains, but now the occupying ogre clan can safely say the same.

On the final leg of the journey, the waters then gently course through the forested lands of the Hillsbrad Foothills. Without hesitation, it lines the fringe of the Horde settlement of Tarren Mill, where the only excitement is the turning of the town mill and the ramblings of a blood elf crying the word, "Betrayal" into the open air.

The Throndoril continues on past a small pond and glides through the forest. A colony of snapjaws rest on the river's banks, content with the sun-warmed breeze that reaches their shells.

Under the bridge that runs along the Meridian Line and across the grassy plains, the river finally reaches the Alliance town of Southshore. The mood is quiet and tranquil. Farmers are tending to their fields and the livestock are grazing without care. A fresh grave has been dug in the old graveyard, with the headstone displaying the name of one Melvin Proctor—a torch and a rusted sword are propped up against the stone in tribute to a man who finally received the death he had always deserved.

On the docks, a small crowd has gathered to watch the guildmembers of Tyranny's Bane return to their battered ship. Everyone cheers and chants songs of praise as the guild departs, believing that the sudden calm in their lands was all made possible by their fearless heroes.

As the ship begins to catch the wind in its sails and drift away, the denizens of Southshore return to their rightful duties, ever thankful that they still have the ability to do so.

Moving faster than ever, the waters of the Throndoril River—satisfied with the serene nature of its passage through the Hillsbrad Foothills—quietly empty out into the endless, shimmering blue of the Great Sea.


	14. Closing Notes

**Closing Notes:**

This whole thing started out as a bit of experiment in Horde patriotism. My friends and I had been playing WoW for about five or six months (not continuously), and we were still very much into it. I had rolled up a blood elf rogue and my two friends played a tauren hunter and an undead warlock. We were all level 70 at the time, and our favorite thing to do when we were absolutely bored was to ride around the Hillsbrad Foothills and look for people to gank.

Yeah, we contributed to the reason why it's not very popular to quest there.

But to be honest, I love the place. Its design is great—it's just a beautiful zone. On top of that, throw in the proximity of the Horde and Alliance towns to each other, and you've got yourself a zone that's hardly ever boring.

So, I pretty much just sat down one day with my friends and thought, "Why don't I just take this a bit further." I love to write and I'm really into fan-fiction. So, I just took the next logical step from there.

The whole purpose, at first, was just to make a story where our three characters just blast the crap out of Southshore. We just walk in and everyone just implodes at the sight of our awesomeness. I was pretty sure I could write something like that, but the second I started writing the first chapter…I decided to go in a different direction. Nothing's ever simple for me. I wanted us to destroy the Alliance, but I needed reason and logic thrown into the mix.

That and I hate for only one side of the story to be told. Two sides always have to fight a war, so I decided to throw in an Alliance character, Davion Nalick, to give us that perspective. I was going to have our characters kill him too, but…obviously they didn't. I ended up liking his character way too much to do that.

Then, eventually, my friend's tauren hunter was switched around into a druid who had long since given up the ways of war. THEN, I couldn't justify a reason why the Horde would just run in there and kill everything. THEN! I wanted to throw Ravenholdt into the mix, just because I love walking up there and wondering _what could have been._ Why design such a perfect place for rogues and then leave it so useless, Blizzard!

Ugh.

Anyways, what you've read now is what that simple premise evolved into (or devolved, depending. A lot of Horde did end up dying). It's no where near as complex or as complete as I had originally wanted it to be. When the expansion was released, all I wanted to do was explore everything. But I hate questing. I hate raids. I hate leveling. I hate pretty much all those main aspects of an MMO. But I loved how open the world was. I explored every inch of it just to see everything (and got that achievement for it). But raising the level cap got to me. I didn't want to have to do that all over again, so the game eventually fell by the wayside for me.

There were a lot of good times in Azeroth, though. Ganking. Sneaking into capital cities. Ganking. Climbing to the top of Ironforge. Ganking. Getting camped at Stranglethorn Vale. A lot of adventures to be had, and maybe if this story isn't completely hated when it's done, then maybe the Hillsbrad chapter won't be the only one to get published. The companions are still alive, after all.

Thanks for reading. Thanks to those about to review, and for those who reviewed the story during the writing process:

Northmen

Nara Bluestar

Sareya

Amoraline

mirari1

The DeadShadow

The Python

Alia5

It's very much appreciated, inspiring, and tempts me to think about continuing on with these characters.

Thanks!

-knight


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